The Man Without a Name
by kokiden
Summary: Won't you change partners and dance with me? All three Junjo Romantica couples get involved in this 20-chapter story about a young man who turns up with a severe concussion on Nowaki's floor at the hospital.
1. I'm Nobody

The Man Without a Name

Chapter 1

I'm Nobody

Nowaki Kusama carried a clipboard and wore a white coat. His stethoscope was slung about his neck, just like a real doctor, and because of the constant hand washing with disinfectant soap, he smelled like a real doctor.

He knew that, deep inside, he was a fake.

He didn't have the conviction that he knew he would have if he were a completely qualified doctor. Sure, he could tend to the sick and injured and comfort their families. His hands were strong and flexible and could easily envelop most other people's hands with their comforting warmth; they had the skill to bandage a wound, insert an IV, palpate a distended abdomen. The number of things these hands could do was practically endless. Right now they were being used to make notes on the chart of a new patient.

The problem was that his lover, Hiroki Kamijou, was already an assistant professor at M University of Tokyo. The man was impressive, masterful in his field, and Nowaki felt he just couldn't measure up to the standard that Hiro-san had set. Well, it wasn't fair to place the blame on Hiro-san. The truth was that the failure was in Nowaki himself. The only solution was to try harder, he thought, as he turned into a patient room.

"How are you today?"

"I don't know." Nowaki raised an eyebrow at the young man in the bed. "Er, I mean, I still don't remember anything." Nowaki smiled encouragingly. "It's creepy not remembering who I am. Or…anything."

"Try not to think too hard about it just yet. Make sure you eat your meals and sleep when you're tired. We're giving you vitamins. Did you realize that a regimen of vitamins can help restore memory?"

"Er…no, I guess not. Actually I don't know if I knew that, but I don't think I did." While Intern Kusama distracted the amnesiac patient with this conversation, he seated himself by the bedside and examined him. He appeared to be a young man, still in school. Brown hair, green eyes, probably about five foot seven. His face was covered with contusions, so much so that it was impossible to determine what he looked like under normal circumstances. His face was also very swollen, and his skull had been fractured in two places. Those were the most severe injuries, and the ones that had no doubt caused the amnesia. He also had severe abrasions on his torso: it appeared that whoever had attacked him had aimed at his internal organs, primarily the kidneys, as well as his head. They had not achieved what they had hoped for, though, as the damage to his body was almost entirely superficial. Thank God.

The man on the bed looked as if he was trying hard to remember whether he'd known that about vitamins.

"Don't strain yourself over something like that. Hopefully your family will be visiting soon, and that will help. It often does."

"Really?"

"Yes, honest." Nowaki smiled warmly. "I have to go now, but the nurses will be by frequently, and if you need something, just push your button."

"Okay." The young man smiled feebly and held up a hand to say good-bye. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Nowaki Kusama stared at him for a fraction of a second before turning to continue on his rounds.

The man in the bed stared at the doctor's retreating back until the last sliver of the white coat disappeared behind the closing door. "_Don't go_." The thought popped unbidden into his head, too late. He had a feeling he wouldn't have said it anyway. Even though he didn't remember what kind of guy he was, he suspected that guy wouldn't selfishly call a busy doctor back just to avoid being alone. He sighed and closed his eyes, hoping he could sleep again.

Nowaki didn't get home until late. He let himself into the apartment he shared with Hiro-san as quietly as he could. He got a beer out of the refrigerator, sat in the living room and read for a while. He could never go straight to bed after coming home from a hospital shift. There were too many details running around in his head. He longed for the warmth of Hiro-san's body, but he knew from experience that if he lay there awake, he would eventually wake his lover, and then his enjoyment would be over, because Hiro-san would be irritable and cranky. So instead he'd wind down on his own with a book and a beer.

But the house at this hour was so lonely, and it was hard for him to wait to get sleepy enough to crawl into bed with Hiro-san and ease himself next to the warm body that smelled of shampoo and soap and books.

Nowaki's mind drifted to the young man with amnesia. In a way, Nowaki was like him. There was so much that Nowaki was missing: no parents or blood relatives of any kind. He was not linked to a long past like most Japanese. He didn't know what his grandparents had done during the war; he didn't have any stories of an old grandmother; he didn't have anybody to disappoint or please with his life: no one but himself and Hiro-san, and Hiro-san seemed determined not to say one way or the other what he expected of Nowaki in terms of his work or achievements. Nowaki sighed. He'd heard many medical students speak of pressures from eager parents who would be ashamed if their children failed to become medical doctors, but Nowaki thought that there was a kind of horrible pressure in having no one looking over your shoulder to see how you were doing. It was kind of like…floating free, but a kind of free-floating that wasn't an ecstatic experience-more like a vast emptiness.

He'd try to explain to Hiro-san this free-floating feeling and why it made him so desperate to catch up with the assistant professor's achievements, but it was clear that Hiro-san didn't understand. He had been raised a normal child in a normal family, and Nowaki was grateful for that.

The young man's face had been so horribly beaten. Nowaki wondered if under the bruises was a beautiful face or an ugly face; or perhaps it was merely the most ordinary face, but beloved by a mother and father or by a girlfriend. But for them, it was as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. And for the young man, it was as if his history had been wiped out by an unseen hand.

While letting these thoughts drift through his mind, Nowaki gently fell asleep and uncounted minutes later woke with a start to the sound of the clock ticking. He picked himself up off the floor, sleepily cursing himself for having missed precious time in bed with Hiro-san.

He was awakened four hours later when Hiroki Kamijou got up to get ready for his day at the University. Kamijou told himself that he always took care to avoid waking Nowaki, but the truth was that Hiroki Kamijou was not a considerate man. He was a man wrapped up in his own thoughts, and while he was so occupied, his body went on ahead with its activities, making just as much noise as was necessary to get those things done without unnecessary disruption to his thought processes. Therefore, Nowaki woke up when Kamijou did most mornings.

"Good morning, Hiro-san," spoke the black-haired man from his horizontal position. He watched Hiro-san put his tie on. To Nowaki, the movements of his hands were beautiful. There was nothing that his Hiro-san did not do well, so far as he was concerned.

"Good morning." Kamijou glanced over at the man lying in the bed.

"I'll make you breakfast." Nowaki began to get up.

"There's no need. I'm late. I'll grab something on the way."

"You're late? But it's still ear—"

Kamijou was in a hurry. "I have an early meeting. Are you coming home late again tonight?"

"Yes, I—"

"Then I'll get dinner for myself. Have a good day." Hiro-san's face softened a little as he said this, but Nowaki didn't have much time to enjoy it. One moment, and he was gone.

Nowaki lay in bed, wondering what Hiro-san would do if he rushed out the door after him and offered to accompany him to school. He'd probably punch him. Nowaki sighed, rolled over on his stomach, and sank back into sleep.

Hiroki did have an early meeting. It was a literature department meeting, and the subject was attendance. It seemed that attendance had been dropping recently in literature classes.

"Not in mine," hissed Hiroki, who could have been said to religiously take attendance, except that his students likened him to the devil rather than to God.

"I know, Kamijou-honey!" hummed Miyagi in his ear, sliding a too-friendly arm around his shoulders. "Your dedication to literature is so alluring," the prestigious full professor practically sang in his ear. Hiroki turned around to give Miyagi his patented glare, but he knew it was useless. Miyagi was far too full of himself to be vulnerable to Kamijou's annoyance.

"Professors," the Dean said in conclusion, "Be regular and disciplined in taking attendance. The survival of your department depends on it!"

"Yes, yes, yes!" gloated Miyagi as the meeting broke up. He picked up his briefcase and stuffed the papers in it that he had been working on while pretending to listen to the Dean. Kamijou looked at him with envy. Nothing seemed to dampen this man's spirits, and Kamijou didn't even have the satisfaction of thinking him an idiot. Yoh Miyagi was acknowledged by all, Kamijou foremost among them, to be a scholar of genius. Kamijou could only continue to find his cheer irritating.

"Make sure you continue to do your stellar job with the attendance!" was Professor Miyagi's final greeting as he left to return to his office, while Hiroki hurried to his first class of the day.

The man who now thought of himself as Nobody sat in his room and flipped through channels on the television that sat on a shelf in the corner of his room. He found nothing of interest, but he knew that after dinner, he would be able to see an episode of the anime program that he'd discovered since he awoke from his coma. It revolved around a village of ninjas and a particular boy who didn't have any family and was rejected by the villagers because he was occupied by a demon spirit. Nobody sympathized with this boy's lack of ties in the village and his status as a pariah. Though Nobody had no reason to think he had ever been ostracized, he thought it was natural, no matter who you are, to feel sorry for such a person and want him to overcome the obstacles he faced.

He lay back on his pillow and looked once more around his room, desperate for a distraction. Having amnesia, he had no memories to fall back on. He had no stories inside him. Being Nobody was the most boring thing a person could possibly be, he thought, really painfully boring. It was more boring than…what? He thought he had something to compare it to, some boring experience of the past, but when he reached into the dark bag of memory, it was empty. He sighed. If only Dr. Kusama would come by. That's what he called him, although Dr. Kusama insisted he was just an intern. It just seemed to him that Dr. Kusama did more to heal what was hurting him than any of the guys and women who were apparently entitled to be called doctor.

It was Dr. Kusama who had thought up the name of Nobody for him. All of the medical staff had encouraged him to just pick a name, and they had come by offering suggestions—so often that Nobody had begun to suspect that it was part of his treatment. Since Dr. Kusama hadn't insisted on it, he thought maybe it was more for their sake than for his, that a person without an identity was too hard even for medical professionals to handle.

It had been yesterday. Or the day before. Nobody paused. He wasn't sure. It seemed as if amnesia could also affect memories you had after your injury. That surprised Nobody, but since he didn't remember anything, really everything should have surprised him. It didn't though. Only some things did.

Dr. Kusama had been passing by, and the person in the bed without a memory had called out to him. Dr. Kusama had stopped as the sound of his voice and had poked his head into the room, a smile on his face. "How are you doing?"

"Eh, feeling kind of disoriented. Do you mind checking me?"

The young intern had smiled, and the patient had suspected that he'd known it was more a bid for attention than an actual physical problem, but he'd come in anyway and shone his little light in each eye, gently probed the swelling places, made the patient follow his finger with his eyes, touch various fingers together, and all the while had kept up a friendly, distracting patter.

"How are you finding the room?"

"It's fine. Not much to do here."

"Pretty boring, huh?" Nowaki switched off the light on his instrument and tucked it in one of his capacious pockets.

"You'd think that a guy like me with nothing in his head wouldn't be bothered by that."

"But you are?"

"I get tired of watching television."

"That's a good sign." Dr. Kusama smiled impishly. "How about books? Have you tried reading? It might serve as a way of awakening memories, but you'd have to go easy. Your head injury is pretty serious, and we don't want you taxing what's left of your brain."

That had made him laugh. The thought of reading made him feel like going to sleep, so he said "Maybe I'll try it tomorrow, if that's okay."

"Yeah, that's fine. So how are you feeling besides bored and achy?"

"Well, all of the staff seems to want me to pick a name for myself, and maybe it would help, only I feel like it would be wrong, somehow. Fake. And even if I'm nobody right now, being nobody is better than trying to be something I'm not." Dr. Kusama had just looked at him for a moment then, a thoughtful look on his face, as if he'd said something profound, which he was pretty sure he hadn't.

"You might have something there, Nobody."

"Huh?"

"It might be better to go with what you're feeling. Recovering from amnesia is a highly individual process, from what I've read. So do what you're comfortable with. Humor us medical people with our requests, but respect what your body and mind tell you."

"No, I mean what did you call me?"

The intern blushed. "I'm sorry."

"You called me 'Nobody.'" He closed his eyes and let the word descend on him like a hiding place in the vast, empty cavern of his own mind. "That actually fits. Would that be too weird?"

"What, to call yourself 'Nobody?' As I said, whatever you feel is right is the way to go for now."

"Okay. That's what I'm going to go by for now."

Dr. Kusama scribbled something on a piece of paper on his clipboard. He tore it off and showed it to the man. "NOBODY," in big block letters, in Nowaki's handsome, firm hand. "I'll be back around in a few hours to check on you…Nobody." He smiled and then paused outside the door to tape the scrap of paper over the place where the patient's name was meant to go.

"Thanks, Doctor."

That had been two days ago. Or yesterday, he forgot which. Now he looked forward to Dr. Kusama's late afternoon rounds. The doctor didn't come in until afternoon, he had learned from the nurses. The nurses seemed to know quite a lot about his new friend—his only friend in the world, so far as he knew. No doubt he was just as kind and gentle with them as he was with Nobody.

His eyes made another circuit of the barren and gloomy room and settled on a small pile of books that had appeared on a chair next to his bed. He picked up the one on top; it had a blue and purple dust jacket with a painting of the moon on the front. _The Moon in a Box_, he read. Setting the rest of the books on the floor, he sat in the chair and began to flip through it. Dense, small type, going on for pages and pages. He yawned. He flipped back to the first page and began reading.

"Hello, hello! Nobody home?" A hand fell on his shoulder, and he woke up with a start.

"Huh? What?"

"Looks like you dozed off."

"Huh, oh, Dr. Kusama!"

"I see you've found the books I brought for you."

"You brought them?"

"Yes, I checked on you when I signed onto my shift, but you were asleep, so I just left them in your chair. Do you like them?"

"Well, I started reading, and I developed shortness of breath, and I got dizzy, and all my limbs fell asleep."

The young intern grinned. "Sounds like you got bored and fell asleep. But why don't you get on the bed and let me check you over anyway?"

That night, Nowaki didn't even pretend to read as he drank his beer. He sat on the floor, leaning against the couch, his head thrown back, thinking about Nobody and feeling happy that there was someone in this world whom he had actually helped.


	2. Kitchen Man

Chapter 2

Kitchen Man

Oh, his jelly roll is so nice and hot

Never fails to touch the spot

I can't do without my kitchen man.

His frankfurters are so sweet

How I like his sausage meat

I can't do without my kitchen man.

"Well, it's been a bit of a long haul, but it looks like you're finally well enough to go home." Nowaki had his scope out once more, shining its light into Nobody's eyes. He had to hold the young man's head steady and one eyelid open at a time, because the boy's natural reflex was to flinch away and close his eyes.

"Heh, heh. That's good," replied Nobody. Had the doctor forgotten that he didn't know who he was and therefore had no idea where home was?

Nowaki finished the exam. "So why don't you look happy?"

"Oh, it's nothing, really. I'm fine. Only, uh, only just…"

"Yes?"

"Where am I supposed to go?" Nobody felt a feeling rush through him, one that was vaguely familiar. If he was forced to describe it, he would have said it was the feeling of having lost everything and everyone that mattered to him and being cast adrift in a lonely world. It swept through him from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet, and before he could get a grip on himself, he felt a lump in his throat; his face contorted and tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes.

Nowaki placed a warm hand on his head. "So, you're worried about where you'll stay."

Nobody tried to control his crying, but it was as if something that had been shackled inside him was suddenly let loose. If he were honest, he wasn't sure of why he was crying. Maybe it was enough that he might have to live on the streets with no idea of how he could make money. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, until Nowaki offered him a tissue.

"Usually, a social worker will come and talk to you and help you arrange something," he said in his kindest tone.

"I—I didn't know that," Nobody sniffed.

"But you know what, I might have an idea that would work, and we could skip the social worker."

"What's that?"

"Well, why don't you come home with me? We get along pretty well, from what I can see, and there's a spare room at my place."

"What about your roommate? Don't roommates mind random patients showing up to crash?"

"Well, some roommates, but not mine." Nowaki smiled reassuringly. In reality, he suspected Hiro-san would be infuriated, but the sight of the lonely figure sitting in the bleak hospital room, face bruised, clutching a crumpled tissue as if it were his dearest possession, had struck Nowaki's heart with force.

Nowaki never spoke to anyone of the loneliness of being an orphan, but that didn't mean he didn't remember it well. If Nowaki behaved inexplicably at times, he knew perfectly well that it was the desire to never be so alone again that drove him; and at times, with certain people, this desire extended to protecting others from that isolation as well. It seemed that Nobody was one of those people.

As they emerged through the double glass doors of the hospital, Nobody felt Nowaki's reassuring hand on his elbow. The intern walked up to one of the cabs waiting at the hospital entrance, opened the back door and gestured Nobody inside.

"Oh, no, let's take the train. This is going to cost too much."

"You may be well enough to leave the hospital, but I'm not willing to take a chance on your getting dizzy and having a fall on the subway steps or platform. Let's take it easy for today. Besides," Nowaki smiled impishly, "My shift isn't over yet. I'm going to have to get back to work, and the subway will take too much time. So get in; the clock is ticking."

When it was put this way, Nobody had to concede. Rather than inconvenience his one and only protector and friend, he climbed awkwardly into the cab and moved over to make room for Nowaki.

"You feeling okay?" The amnesiac nodded. "Well, there's one thing we need to talk about on the way home. Well, two, really, but first, there's your name. I'm afraid that we can't just stick with Nobody anymore."

"Why not?"

"Well that has to do with item number two, my roommate, Hiro-san. Well, you should call him Professor Kamijou, to be safe. He's a college professor, and he's kind of finicky about names and things, and he'll be irritated if we tell him you don't have a name. Just trust me on this," he said, as Nobody gave him a questioning look. "Hiro-san is much easier to get along with if you just respect his idiosyncrasies. That was his book I lent you, by the way. He has a lot of them."

Nobody nodded. Nowaki seemed to like to talk about Hiro-san—Professor Kamijou, he corrected himself.

"So what would you like to be called?"

"Akihiko."

A very strange series of expressions crossed Nowaki's face when he heard Nobody's choice. At first he looked shocked, then dismayed, and finally, amused. In fact he seemed to be trying to suppress a laugh.

"That's the name of the author of the book you lent me," explained the boy who was still Nobody.

"I know, but it's—how can I explain? It's probably not the best choice." Nobody stared at him, confused. "Well, Hiro-san actually knows the author, so it might be a bit confusing."

"Oh, why didn't you say so? Well, then…how about Noboru?" Noboru was the given name of the main character of that book that he had tried to read.

"Much better."

"So what did you want to tell me about Professor Kamijou?"

"Well, he's kind of possessive of his stuff, so don't touch any of his books without asking. And…um…if he seems like he doesn't like you, don't worry. He just acts that way. He's really kind underneath."

By that time, the cab had come to a stop outside an ordinary-looking apartment building in a quiet neighborhood. Nowaki got out and helped Noboru out.

"Thanks, Dr. Kusama."

"You're welcome—Noboru."

Nowaki let Noboru into a decent-sized apartment that was full of light and sparsely furnished. Books seemed to line every wall of every room. There were even books in the kitchen. Cookbooks, Noboru hoped, his heart beating a little faster for some unknown reason. "Dr. Kusama, maybe you could let me cook, in payment for letting me stay."

"You know how to cook?"

"I think so." Noboru looked uncertainly at his mentor, then at the stove and utensils hanging near it. He could imagine the knife in his hand and the texture of the wooden cutting board. His hand tingled at the thought of holding the ladle. "It seems—it feels like I do."

"Well, that would be nice. Especially if you cook well, it would endear Hiro-san to you quite a bit. He likes to be fed."

"Who doesn't?"

"Over here is your room." Nowaki opened the door to a room that had a futon rolled in one corner and was otherwise given over to books and boxes. "Oh, dear, I'll have to clear a space for your things." He began shifting boxes, and Noboru pitched in and helped him stack the boxes so they took up less floor space. "That should do for now. And now—I hate to leave you, but I really need to get back to work. Hiro-san comes home around 7:00—I'll give him a call to let him know you're here, so he won't be surprised. And I'll be home around 2:00am, I'm afraid."

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Tell Hiro, er, Professor Kamijou that I'll make dinner, okay?"

"Sure. I'll see you tomorrow, then. Get some rest! Doctor's orders!"

It was shortly after 7:00 when Noboru heard the key in the lock. A thrill of excitement went through him. Quickly, he tried to think how to greet the apartment's real resident while he gave the stew he was preparing a stir. "Hi, I'm Noboru Nakamura, I hope Dr. Kusama told you about me." No, too casual. He had said this Kamijou character was a bit of a stickler. Here he was! He held his breath as he heard shoes being taken off and left at the door and sock feet padding their way toward him.

They continued padding by and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. Noboru set the low table in the living room with two place settings.

"So you're the amnesiac?"

Noboru jumped and then turned and saw a beautiful man, a man with soft, reddish hair, a beautiful, pale complexion, and a flexible, slender figure. He was dressed in jeans and a soft, short-sleeved shirt, and he had a very wary look on his face. Noboru bowed deeply and said, "Sorry for intruding! I am Noboru Nakamura, and I am making dinner!" He remained in the bow until he heard a snicker, then he straightened up. Kamijou appeared to be laughing. Noboru smiled cautiously.

"You cut quite the figure there, young Mr. Nakamura," replied his unwilling host. "Nowaki tells me you don't remember anything about who you are."

"Yeah, that's pretty much the whole story, from beginning to end." Noboru smiled wryly. "The doctors said that until my memories start coming back, I'll just have to start over."

"And that means…?"

"Well, I guess I'll get some training, since I don't even know what I did for work before I lost my memory. I can't just be a burden on the state…or on nice people like you and Dr. Kusama. So I guess they figure they'd better train me so I can be useful."

"Believe me, nice people like me and Nowaki are not going to put you up for very long."

"Nossir!"

"So what kind of training do you think you'll take?"

"Well, they have you take an aptitude test, and then based on that, they train you in something it doesn't take too long to learn. Um, I'd like to try training as a chef. I guess I must have known how to cook…before…because I know how to make this stew, and it seems like I have a lot of other recipes in my head."

"It smells good."

"Thanks, sir."

"You don't have to call me that. Professor Kamijou is fine."

"Thanks, Professor Kamijou."

"Right, well, I have some papers to grade, so let's eat so I can get on with my work."

Dinner with Kamijou was tense, and Noboru had the feeling he wasn't making a very good impression on the professor. When they had finished eating, he hurriedly cleared the table and washed and put away the dishes. Then he slipped into his room and went to bed after a quiet "Good night" to his host.

In the darkness, the door slid open, and Noboru's eyes snapped open, and he saw a shadow in the doorway of the unfamiliar room. He watched the door arc and click closed, and he glanced at the clock that sat on top of a pile of boxes: it was 3:00am. He closed his eyes and turned over. He drifted back into a dream.

He was awakened again, fifteen minutes? an hour? later. Muffled sounds penetrated through the door, voices, repetitive syllables. Chanting, he thought at first, in his dream-soaked state, but then it came to him. What he was hearing was the grunting of two people giving each other pleasure.

His eyes flew open as he realized that meant he recognized these sounds as what they were. What did that mean about him, his own experiences? He stared at the ceiling. He must have some sexual experience, then. Yes, that felt right, just as when he looked at the cooking utensils, he could feel their heft in his hands, he could not only visualize the sex act, but he could feel it with his body. The sensation of penetration, that hot, burning, aching, erotic feeling.

Penetration. Noboru broke out in a sweat. No. Not that. Cool hands all over his body, touching here, there, touching his—no.

More importantly, he thought, panicked at the insistent memory of the touch of a—no! more importantly, if he remembered this, did that mean that he was in a relationship? A gay—a relationship with someone? Could it be someone was looking for him, worried about him?

His sense of panic increased. Someone out there suffering because of him. What could he do? He didn't know who it was, how to find them. He didn't even know if this person existed, but his body knew. His body was telling him. Someone out there, waiting for him, worrying over him, crying for him. Someone whose body knew his intimately. A man.

The sounds went on: no, they grew louder and more intense until Noboru lay there, sweating and imagining, no, remembering what it felt like to have an orgasm with another man's cock up his ass. And wondering who and where that man was.

"What's this?" Akihiko picked up Kamijou's attendance record for his Basic Lit class.

"It's an attendance sheet. Put it down," Kamijou replied irritably. Akihiko had been spending more time than usual in his office. He could only assume that his boyfriend had dumped him, because he hadn't seen Akihiko this much since those two had hooked up.

"I didn't realize attendance was a requirement at university level."

"It is now. It seems there's pressure on some of the less popular departments to show we're worth the money spent on us, so the Dean is requiring us to document attendance. I do it as a matter of course, however." He plucked the sheet out of Akihiko's hand. Akihiko looked up at him morosely.

As a matter of fact, one or two of his students had been slacking lately and had hardly shown up all week. Kamijou chuckled to himself. These kids would find out whether that was a good idea or not when it came to their final grades.

"Can we have dinner tonight?"

"Can't. Nowaki invited a stray home, and I have to be there to make sure he doesn't steal the silver." Akihiko stared blankly at him.

When he woke up in the morning, Noboru heard sounds in the apartment. Someone was washing dishes. Noboru pulled on clothes, trying not to think about what he'd heard in the middle of the night, and certainly not what he'd realized about himself.

Nowaki was making coffee when he walked in.

"Good morning, Noboru."

"Good morning, Dr. Kusama. What are you doing up? Didn't you come in late?"

"I don't usually sleep that much. Do you want some coffee?"

"Yes, thanks."

The men sat in the living room to drink their coffee.

"When are you going to have the vocational test, Noboru?"

"Not until the end of the week."

"In the mornings, why don't I take you around the city and make sure you know enough to get around before you have to go out on your own?"

"Would you really? That sounds great!"

They got their jackets on and headed out the door. Nowaki showed Noboru the way to the closest subway station, pointing out landmarks along the way to help fix the route in Noboru's mind. He also pointed out the number and destination of the line they took and had Noboru study the map of the subway line as they rode three stops toward the center of the city.

"Where are we going?" Noboru asked, as they climbed the steps up to the street.

"You'll see," replied Nowaki, smiling mysteriously. He led Noboru into a men's clothing store.

"What, do you need clothes?"

"No, but you do."

"Oh! But I don't have any money. Only 3,000 yen." Noboru blushed. It seems as if he was the kind of person who was embarrassed by being poor.

"Let me buy you a couple things."

"Oh, no, I couldn't, Doctor. You're already doing so much for me!"

"How are you going to get a job without clothes, and how can you pay me back if you don't get a job?"

"Well, I guess you're right about that."

They left the store an hour later with two bags. Noboru felt a warmth in his chest that was half shame, half happiness. He was thinking about how he would start cleaning up the apartment when he got back to show his appreciation, when Nowaki took his arm and spoke to him.

"Notice what intersection we're at," he said, pointing out the street signs and a McDonald's on the corner. "From here, we're going to cross at this street toward that news kiosk and continue down one block." As he said so, the light turned green, and he led Noboru across the street and then down the way he'd indicated. They arrived at a park. A vendor was selling hot dogs, and Nowaki bought two, handing one to Noboru. They sat on a bench and enjoyed the American-style food, chatting quietly.

Over Nowaki's shoulder, Noboru watched children playing on some equipment. There was a sort of merry-go-round that moved in a circle. The children clung onto it, while other kids spun it around. There were shrieks of laughter and cries as small hands loosened and flew off the whirling structure. Other children climbed up a ladder to descend a slide. Mothers sat on a nearby bench and chatted.

Nowaki realized that Noboru wasn't listening, and he turned around to see what the younger man was looking at. "Do you want to go watch?" He stood as he spoke, gently pulling Noboru to stand, placing an arm around him to urge him forward. The two men stood and watched the children play. Noboru felt Nowaki's shoulder against his. A memory of the night before flashed in his mind, and he moved away, just enough so they weren't touching anymore.

The children had jumped off the merry-go-round and were now fighting over sand toys. Nowaki strode over and took a running jump onto the turning structure and sat while it spun slowly. He waved at Noboru, grinning madly. Noboru waved back, then ran after him and began pushing the merry-go-round, making it go faster and faster, till Nowaki was going around at a good clip. He managed to sit so he could brace his legs against the metal bars, and on the next round, he leaned out and captured Noboru under the armpits, pulling him onto the machine with him.

"Whoaaa!" Nowaki was laughing wildly as he pulled Noboru onto his lap, clutching tightly onto him. Noboru held on for dear life, afraid to slip and fall and maybe hit his head. Nowaki just held tight onto him, as Noboru listened to his laughter floating out above him. Noboru buried his face in Nowaki's jacket and while holding the other man tightly lost himself in the sensation of spinning around while being held: chaos and order, fear and comfort, danger and safety. Something shifted inside him suddenly, as if a memory was awakening, but it was gone before he could grab hold of it.

Nowaki let him off the merry-go-round once it slowed down to a gentle pace, and the two walked back to the subway station, shopping bags in hand, with Noboru in the lead.

The subway was crowded on the way back, and Noboru and Nowaki stood pressed together among the mass of passengers. Nowaki noticed now Noboru's bruised face only came up to his shoulder. Nowaki had a view of Noboru's scalp as he gazed down at the young man, whose body was pressed so tightly against his. The scalp shone through in places, so tender and pale against the dark hair. Kind of like Noboru himself, something very fragile protected by an exterior that seemed ready to break apart and expose him to harm at any moment. The boy's torso pressed up against his as the car jolted, and an office lady lost her balance, jostling Noboru. Nowaki steadied Noboru with his hands, secretly enjoying both touching and being touched by him. He knew it would be wrong to seek Noboru out, but there was no harm in enjoying this kind of incidental touching.

For his part, Noboru was fighting back panic at being squeezed in so tightly with all of these people. He tried very hard not to think about what would happen if he needed to leave the car for some reason. He concentrated on the rough feeling of Nowaki's jacket against his cheek, the smell of the outdoors still clinging to the fabric over Nowaki's own smell of disinfectant and sweat. He closed his eyes and breathed in; he was relieved when Nowaki caught him when someone jostled him from behind.

The days eased into a routine soon enough. Noboru found that routines were very good for him. The more things that happened on a regular, scheduled basis, the more new information he found he was able to take in. It was as if his brain could stop worrying about what was going to happen next, which freed it for learning new things.

The daily excursions with Nowaki continued. Nowaki took him in turn to each of the major districts of the city, allowing him to use different subway lines and stops, walking along the major streets, taking in landmarks along the way, building up his knowledge base. Noboru found that some of it was familiar. He waited for the moment when a shop, restaurant, building, or statue would awaken a memory from his previous life.

Nowaki seemed to like playgrounds and parks. There was one on the itinerary every day. Yesterday he had taken Noboru to a park where a group of old men were playing with an air rocket. They had greeted Nowaki warmly and had welcomed Noboru into their group. They had played with the rocket for hours and shared beers with the young men.

Today, Nowaki had taken him to Hama Rikyu Garden, a botanical garden. They wandered through the trees, walking silently and companionably. Now and then, Nowaki would point out a flower or tree to him and murmur its name. It reminded Noboru of how Nowaki pointed out landmarks on the streets. He didn't know if the names of trees and flowers had been lost with the amnesia or if he hadn't cared about such things in his previous life.

It seemed as if the number of times when Nowaki's arm accidentally brushed his, or shoulder grazed against him, was increasing, but Noboru didn't want to think about whether it was purposeful. He wanted to drift in this dream with his new friend, pretending that Tokyo was a world that Nowaki had brought to him. He sneaked a look at his companion: his face was peaceful and happy, a slight smile on his lips as he wandered slowly among the greenery. This face, this smile had become synonymous for Noboru with human warmth. He knew it was illogical and maybe even dangerous to develop an attachment to this man, when he was virtually the only person in his new, empty world. But Noboru couldn't help it. It seemed his heart craved contact, and Nowaki was the only one providing it.

Professor Kamijou had lived up to his reputation of a fussy and difficult man, and he had continued cool and sarcastic toward Noboru, who thought the best plan was to find a place of his own as soon as possible.

They had wandered into a small grove of trees. It was cool and quiet, the sound dampened by a carpet of previous years' fallen leaves, mashed into a soft loam. Suddenly, Nowaki took hold of his arm and his face was leaning down, his lips looming close. His fingers came and plucked something off Noboru's cheek. "You have a leaf," he said, showing it to Noboru, who felt a heat go through his face and down his whole body.

Noburu stepped back. "Sh-shouldn't we be going back?"

Back at the apartment, Noboru worked on organizing the room where he slept, taking things out of boxes and putting them away in closets or on shelves. There were kitchen items, clothes, knick-knacks, and books. Always more books. Noboru had found more novels by that author, Akihiko Usami. They always had the same effect on him: he would become dizzy, and his hands and feet would start going numb. But he'd also noticed a strange sensation that he could only describe as a wind blowing through the back of his mind. It gave him goose bumps.

Nowaki appeared in the doorway, dressed in a turtleneck, jeans, and lab coat. "You know you don't have to do this."

"I want to. Until I get my training started and get a job, it's good for me to have something to do. And it helps my pride, knowing I'm not just sponging off of you and Professor Kamijou." Nowaki's eyes slid to the side at the sound of his lover's name. He suddenly appeared awkward standing there, his hands just hanging by his sides.

"Well, I appreciate it."

"No problem—I—" Just then, a box, which Noboru had been stretching up to take off the top of a pile, tipped over and began to fall on top of him. Noboru raised his hands up, but the box never fell. Next to him stood Nowaki, shielding him. He propped the box up in his hands, then carefully took it and lowered it to the floor.

"Are you okay?" Noboru looked up, and found himself enfolded in Nowaki's arms. He tried to free himself, but Nowaki held him tightly.

Nowaki couldn't resist. Finding himself so close to Noboru, after days of being by his side but unable to do more than occasionally touch his arm or brush up against him, he had to hold him. He had told himself it was all right to enjoy their incidental contact, that there was no fault in this innocent happiness of touch, that the joy he found in reintroducing Noboru to life in Tokyo was that of a teacher with an eager and able student. But now that he was standing so close to Noboru, after finding a reason to breach the distance once more, their bodies so close, he fell all the way. He took Noboru in his arms, and slowly, slowly, he lowered his face to the younger man's, and allowed his lips to find those other lips, those sweet, soft lips, and he felt his heart rush up to meet the lonely heart of Noboru.

Nowaki's kiss was sweet and warm. Noboru felt as if he was melting, his whole body growing softer and more wobbly the longer that Nowaki held his mouth. Finally, Nowaki withdrew a little, and Noboru struggled again to break free of his embrace. Once more, he felt the conflicting emotions he had on the merry-go-round: exhilarated but frightened, comforted but captured.

But Nowaki had a lover. The image of Professor Kamijou, the sounds that Kamijou and Nowaki made at night, the knowledge that Noboru was a guest in their home intruded. Noboru placed a hand on Nowaki's chest and pressed, gently. "_You're his_," he thought to say. But what came out was, "You'll be late."

For dinner that night, Noboru prepared grilled fish, rice, sautéed cabbage, and pickled vegetables. He and Kamijou ate in silence as usual, Kamijou reading a book the entire time, Noboru making sure he had everything he needed without intruding on his peace. Noboru watched him. His brow furrowed as he read, or he raised his eyebrows, gaped, sneered. Kamijou was amazing; Noboru had peeked at his books, and they were much more difficult than _The Moon in a Box_ and the other works of Akihiko Usami. Noboru marveled that anyone could find so much to react to in these difficult and abstract books.

This was the man that Nowaki had chosen. Noboru felt tears welling up in his eyes; he blinked to suppress them. There was no point in crying about it. This was how it was.

He hadn't realized as he had left the hospital at Nowaki's side that one of the first lessons of his new life would be so bitter.

Top of Form

Bottom of Form


	3. Together and Apart

Chapter 3

Together and Apart

"When is he leaving?" Kamijou sat grimly drinking his morning tea at the low table. Nowaki had taken the rattling of the newspaper as a sign that he shouldn't disturb his beloved and so was surprised to hear his voice.

"Who, Noboru?"

"Mr. I-Can't-Remember-a-Thing-Doctor -Please-Help-Me 3. Yes."

"That's unfair, Hiro-san. He didn't ask me to help him."

"But he accepts your help gladly. And your help interferes with my life."

Nowaki came to sit opposite Kamijou at the table and leaned toward him. "I'm sorry, Hiro-san. But it's my fault, not Noboru's."

Kamijou looked up from the paper at last and met Nowaki's eyes. Why was he so intent on defending the lad?

It was just Nowaki's kindness.

Or was it more than that? A drum sounded inside Kamijou's heart. No, that was stupid. University professors didn't have drums in their hearts. That was just a metaphor for a feeling of doom. Oh, God.

_Don't be kind to anyone but me, Nowaki._

_But if I tell him that, he'll know. And he might grow to resent me, so I'll just assume he's doing it to be kind. I'll just make sure the kid leaves soon._

"He's moved all of my stuff around, and now I can't find it."

"I'm sure he didn't mean to. Don't you like how clean the apartment is?" Nowaki smiled and took Kamijou's cup out to the kitchen to refill it.

But Kamijou knocked the cup out of his hand. It went flying across the room and smashed against the wall, streaking the wall brown as the remnants of tea dripped down.

Kamijou rose and strode over to the bookcase. "I can't find my things. I can't find my books." He started pulling volume after volume out, tossing them behind him. "What's this?" He held up a tattered paperback and tossed it at Nowaki. "Where's my _Tales of Genji_? I looked for it for an hour yesterday and never found it. A literature professor can't live under these conditions!" He continued pulling books out and tossing them across the room, until he heard one make a dull thud as it hit Nowaki.

He turned around, and for a moment, Nowaki, clutching his stomach, saw the fear in Hiro-san's eyes, but it was gone the next moment. Kamijou grabbed his briefcase and jacket.

"I'm going."

The door slammed, and Hiro-san was gone.

A tousled, dark head appeared around the corner of the room.

"Dr. Kusama? Is everything okay? I heard something break."

Noboru came in and saw Nowaki standing by the door, his hands trembling and tears running down his face.

"N-noboru," he stuttered out, unable to say more.

Noboru walked over and helped Nowaki to sit down. He moved to go pick up the pieces of the broken cup, but Nowaki pulled him down to sit next to him and leaned on him. Noboru lifted one hand and stroked his hair.

That damned Nowaki. He never knew what was going on in his head, and he'd be damned if he was going to beg him for favors. Hiroki Kamijou rattled the paper on which his attendance list was typed. Those absentees were really going to get it when they came back. "Chieko Toya?" No answer. A girl was busy texting and chatting with her neighbor. Kamijou hefted a book in his hand, taking aim, but suddenly he heard a sound in his mind, the sickening sound of the book hitting his beloved Nowaki in the gut. He put the book down and spoke louder. "CHIEKO TOYA?"

The test had taken a lot of concentration, and Noboru had done his best to stay focused. The counselor who scored his test and spoke to him afterward had been straightforward. Noboru walked up the steps from the subway with no particular destination in mind. He passed a playground and leaned over the fence for a while, watching the children and their mothers. When one small boy fell off the slide, his mother came running and comforted him. Noboru felt a pang in his heart, and at the same time he heard the wind rushing in his head again. His sight seemed to dim, and by the time he was steady on his feet again, the crisis was resolved and the boy was being encouraged to rejoin his playmates. Noboru let go of the fence palings and walked on, wondering when he was ever going to put it all together.

He spotted a hot-dog vendor and on an impulse bought two and had the vendor wrap them up tight. He wasn't that far from the hospital. That was it— cheer Nowaki up by bringing him some lunch. He just hoped his money would last until he could get some kind of job.

The nurses were happy to see him. "Noboru?" They looked at him questioning when he asked them to tell Dr. Kusama that Noboru was here to see him. He laughed, realizing that he hadn't had a name when he'd left them. "Nowaki, look who's here!" One of the nurses, a sturdy girl with acne-scarred cheeks went and found him and brought him to the nurses' station.

"Noboru!" Nowaki's face lit up when he saw Noboru standing there. "You came to visit!"

"Actually, I brought you some lunch." Noboru held up the hot dogs.

"Great! I can take a break now." The two men took the elevator back down so they could sit outside and eat. Noboru ate quickly so he could show Nowaki his test results.

"See here—it says I'd do well at an outdoor job, like a gardener or a bus driver." He pointed to a line on the test results. "But I'm not a good match for a university professor, which is fine, since that's not a short training period anyway." He felt Nowaki's hand on his head, as the doctor ruffled his hair, as he'd taken to doing.

"Don't focus on what you can't do, Noboru. What other things does it say you'd be good at?"

"Well, just like we guessed, I got a high score for chef. And housekeeper!" Both men laughed over that. It was true that Noboru had done an excellent job organizing his room and keeping the rest of the house clean. Nowaki would miss having his help when the boy left to live on his own. His heart clutched at the thought, and he pushed it away.

"Did the counselor have any ideas for training classes?"

"Yeah! There's a new semester starting at the culinary institute over on this side of town in just a few weeks, and I can get a scholarship. They'll help me with the application and financial aid forms."

"That's great!"

"Yeah. I think that being a chef would make me happy."

"What about living arrangements? Will the scholarship cover lodging?"

"Oh, yeah! Actually, I think the social services agency pitches in for lodging. That should kick in as soon as school starts. Then I'll be out of your hair."

Nowaki's heart did another flip. The words _Don't go!_ pressed against the inside of his lips. "You're not in my hair," was all he said. "Well, I have to get back to my rounds. Thank you for bringing lunch." Both men stood, and Nowaki placed a hand on Noboru's shoulder. "See you in the morning."

Noboru watched him go back through the double glass doors. There was something sad about him, Noboru thought, though maybe it was he himself who was sad at the prospect of leaving the shelter of Nowaki's apartment.

Nowaki had slipped him some money for groceries, so he bought a chicken and fresh vegetables on the way home. In celebration of his future prospects, Noboru fixed roasted chicken and vegetables with egg noodles for dinner. He set a plate aside for Nowaki on the counter then joined Kamijou at the table.

"Looks like I'll be moving out in a couple of weeks when I start school."

"Is that right?" Kamijou eyed him with what looked like a wary eye.

Noboru tried his stunning smile out, hoping to get the sour professor to give him a slight break.

"Congratulations," was all he said, before he resumed eating.

Nowaki shut the front door behind him and took off his jacket, hanging it on a hook behind the door. He was tired enough tonight to go straight to bed, so he went on into the bedroom. Without undressing, he slipped into bed next to Hiro-san, careful not to disturb his sleep.

"Sorry about this morning."

"Hiro-san! You're awake!" Nowaki turned on his side to face his lover, who stroked his chest. "Did you wait up for me?"

"I couldn't fall asleep. I was too worked up." Kamijou, who had noticed that Nowaki was still dressed, began lifting his shirt off, stroking the skin underneath.

"Did something happen at work?"

"No, idiot. I was worried about this morning." Kamijou undid the button on Nowaki's pants.

"Oh."

Kamijou kissed Nowaki, plowing right in with his tongue, licking along the inside of Nowaki's lower lip. He pulled back.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired. I guess I don't feel like it tonight."

There was silence. Nowaki cringed; he had hurt Hiro-san's feelings; he knew it. He reached a hand up to stroke his arm, but Kamijou shrugged it off and turned to face the wall.

"I'm sorry, Hiro-san."

"I guess you're just too tired from walking that shitty little kid around all morning."

"Hiro-san! That's not it. There was a child with a—"

"Don't bother explaining. You don't even know how you look when you look at him, you, you—your eyes, they—"

"Hiro-san, I only love you. For him, it's just—"

But Kamijou had sat up. "Are you even listening to me? You don't see what I see, Nowaki. You coddle the kid all morning. You don't care that he's completely messed up our life together. You're not standing up for us. "

"That's not why I—"

"Why did you even invite him here? I don't even understand that."

Nowaki thought. "It was in the hospital. When I told him we were releasing him, his face just crumpled up like a little kid, and he said 'I don't have anywhere to go.' His tears touched me."

Kamijou froze. This was not good. This was almost exactly the same as how Nowaki had described how he had fallen in love with _him_.

"I thought…I would do anything to keep him from ending up like me."

"Now, what the hell does that mean? What's wrong with your life? Are you saying this is not enough for you?"

"No, Hiro-san, I—"

"I've had enough of it. I'm going. You and the brat can have the apartment to yourselves."

Kamijou stood and dressed hurriedly. Nowaki sat up in bed and watched him, helpless.

"You don't have to do this, Hiro-san. Please stay."

But he was gone, again.

Nowaki remained sitting up in bed, his head hung down, staring vacantly at his own lap in the dark, wondering how it had gone so badly. Hiro-san was irrational at times, it was true.

"Dr. Kusama?" The dark head appeared around the door. "What's wrong?"

"Come in, Noboru." Noboru approached the bed, and Nowaki held the covers open for him. "Climb in. It's too cold to stand there in your underwear." Noboru hesitated.

"That's Professor Kamijou's bed."

"And Professor Kamijou has run off and left me alone in this bed, so get in." Noburu hesitated. His protector's voice sounded weary and disappointed. "I won't do anything to you, I promise. I just want to feel someone next to me." Noboru climbed in, reluctantly, and Nowaki slid down to lie full-length next to him.

"What happened, Dr. Kusama? Do you feel like talking about it?"

The big, warm hand reached out and ruffled his hair. "I'm not even sure how to explain it. I don't really know what's happening to me, Noboru." They lay there like that for some time. "Noboru?" Nowaki took up again.

"What?"

"Can you just sleep here tonight?"

"Sure, Doctor."

Nowaki draped his arm over Noboru, as if Noboru were an oversized teddy bear, and drifted off to sleep. At the thought, Noboru's eyes popped open wide. He felt the wind at the back of his head rise, and he began to shiver. An image rose in his inner eye, of a tall man embracing him…as if he were a… teddy bear. It took him a long time to get to sleep, as the image slowly faded from his mind.

Kamijou had been forced to take a cab over to the university, since the last train had been long gone by the time he had left the apartment. He unlocked the door to his office and turned on the light. And heard a groan. Startled, he looked in the direction of the couch.

A familiar but rumpled figure lay stretched on the turquoise artificial leather.

"Hello, hello, my darling Hiroki!"

Kamijou stared.

"Come on, sweetheart, don't look at me like that. This is a fortuitous meeting." Yoh Miyagi sat up and patted the spot next to him. He picked up a blanket that had fallen on the floor and began to fold it.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, you know, the course of true love never did run straight, well, I guess that goes without saying in our cases! Sit down, make yourself comfortable. Such a pleasant surprise! And what brings you here at this late hour? Get the urge to work on your thesis, hmmmm?" Miyagi got up and slouched over to his desk, where he extracted a cigarette from a crumpled packet and lit it. "Do tell, do tell."

"It's nothing. I won't trouble you. Since you're obviously sleeping here, I'll sleep in the department library. Good night."

"Whoa, whoa there just a minute, young gentleman. You can't get away that easily. Is there trouble in paradise, eh? Storming out in the middle of the night? Must be something bad. Mmmm, he won't leave you alone? No, no, no. Oh," Miyagi pretended to gasp. "Don't tell me he's…getting some on the side. Come to Papa Miyagi. He'll comfort you." Miyagi approached Kamijou with his arms spread, and Kamijou, horrified, took a few steps back and held his hands up to ward him off.

"You're wrong! It's not like that! And don't touch me, you pervert!" But he tripped over a chair and sat in it with a big "Whump," and soon Miyagi was on top of him, embracing him and planting kisses on his forehead, Kamijou protesting the whole time.

"Come on! Daddy will make it all better!" Miyagi crooned between smooches. Finally, he had had enough and stood up, allowing Kamijou to stand as well.

"I hope that made you feel better," he sneered. "I'm off to sleep in the library."

"Sure you don't want to bunk with me? It would be cozy, but I'd make room."

"No, thank you!"

Kamijou woke for the second time in the early morning as light filtered in through the dirty library windows. He had a headache, and his whole body ached. He stood and stretched and headed to the men's room to empty his bladder. In the bathroom mirror, he saw a tired and grumpy-looking man who needed a shave and a hairbrush. He staggered back to his office to beg a razor and brush from Miyagi.

"For you, Hiro-chan, anything, anything."

"Thanks, I—"

"I only beg one thing in repayment—a kiss."

"You bastard."

"You hurt me." Miyagi put a sulking face on. "Have you seen your face? You really can't teach a class looking like that."

"Oh, all right." Kamijou held his face up to be kissed, but Miyagi took him around the waist and pressed a hot, wet kiss on his lips. Kamijou ended it as soon as he could and held his hand out, wiggling the fingers. Miyagi took his time pretending to look for the items and finally pressed them into Kamijou's hands. He smiled sweetly.

"Now go get pretty. Off you go!"

Properly groomed, or as groomed as he could get in yesterday's clothes, Kamijou went to the student affairs office to look at student records. One of his absentees had not yet turned up, and he wanted to have a look at his file.

He stood impatiently at the desk while the clerk went and found the file and then had him sign for it. Kamijou opened it right there at the desk and riffled through the papers, looking for basic information on this student who had been with him since the beginning of the school year, a boy who tended to sit toward the back of the lecture hall and avoid speaking out in class. He had been a regular attendee up until the past three weeks, and then he had simply vanished.

Kamijou might never have noticed, except for the empty line on his grading sheet and the recent emphasis placed on attendance by the Dean. To tell the truth, attendance had become something of an obsession with him. Someone who was interested in psychology might have thought that Kamijou was grasping for some small measure of control in a life where he seemed to control very little, what with uninvited guests and wayward lovers. And Akihiko had been hanging around with a long face, because his boyfriend had dumped him. So what if he'd suddenly challenged himself to achieve one hundred percent attendance? It was a healthy hobby that harmed no one.

There it was, at the back of the file. Misaki Takahashi, and his address was…holy creeping hell. That was Akihiko's address. Could this kid be Akihiko's boyfriend? He'd been in his class the whole time? Kamijou felt himself flush at the thought of Akihiko keeping this bit of information from him. His eyes went to the upper right hand corner, where a photo was stapled.

His hands shook. Loose sheets jumped out of the file and fluttered down to the floor. Misaki Takahashi. Kamijou's missing student. Noboru Nakamura. All the same person.


	4. Denial, Anger, Depression

Chapter 4

Denial, Anger, Depression

After the endless bouts of typing leading up to the most recent deadline, Akihiko Usami looked up one bleary-eyed morning to find that the dishes had not been washed, the ashtrays and garbage were overflowing, the phone message machine was blinking, and his lover, Misaki Takahashi, was nowhere to be found.

"Misaki?" He visited each room in the penthouse apartment but did not find him. He checked the clock. It was 7:00 in the morning, too early for Misaki to be at school. Where on earth could he be? And how long had he been gone, Akihiko wondered. Everywhere he went, there were signs that the house had been left unattended for more than a few hours.

"Takahiro? It's Akihiko. Have you seen Misaki? No? When was the last time you talked to him? Well, no, I've been on a deadline, I haven't noticed a thing…Well, where could he be? …Oh, God, Takahiro… Misaki is missing."

He hung up the phone, leaving his hand on the receiver. He lifted it and dialed again. "Hello. Akihiko Usami for Aikawa-san. Yes, I'll hold. Aikawa-san. By any chance, have you called my house and spoken to Misaki in the past three days? No? No, it's nothing. Thank you. Good-bye."

Who could he call now? What about that bastard friend of Misaki's? He wouldn't tell the truth. Let the police talk to him. They'd get it out of him with torture, no doubt.

He made the call, then sat down to wait for Takahiro, who'd said he was leaving work after hanging up.

Akihiko looked extremely uncomfortable talking to the police officer. His arms were crossed, his chin tucked in, and the shadows under his eyes made him look suspicious, even to Takahiro's eyes. He gently took his old friend by the shoulders and led him to sit at the kitchen table and invited the police officers to join him. Takahiro, an old hand at the domestic arts, made tea and watched Akihiko stiffly answer questions.

"He was definitely here two days ago. That was the day that I wrote the bit about Kaminari and the frog." The police officers exchanged a look.

"I spoke to my brother on the phone that day, so I can verify he was here. I called this number," Takahiro chimed in to support his friend. The police officers looked at him with carefully neutral faces.

"Did he say anything about taking a vacation?"

"No! He's in the middle of a semester! He wouldn't do that."

"Does he have a girlfriend?"

"No." This was Akihiko. The killer look, unfortunately, was not lost on the officers.

"Did you two have a fight or something?" The taller of the two officers fixed Akihiko with his dead, black eyes.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, no. I was working on a novel, as I said. I think he mentioned something about going out with that friend of his, the one with the stringy hair and the smirk." The officers exchanged a look again, and Takahiro got a very bad feeling. "I just told him there was no way he was going to go out drinking with that creep, and he'd better be back on time to serve me dinner. But then I ran into some trouble with the end of the chapter, and I kind of lost track after that." Akihiko turned white, and his eyes caught Takahiro's.

Takahiro groaned inwardly. He didn't want to blame Akihiko. He knew what the man was like. But how could he not notice for two whole days that Misaki hadn't come home?

It was clear when they left that the police considered both Akihiko and Takahiro suspects, and Takahiro doubted that they would do much more than keep a close eye on both of them. He looked at Akihiko, who seemed unaware of just how little the police were likely to do for them. Even though his anxiety level was high, he couldn't help feeling for Usagi, who looked like a complete wreck. Takahiro was deeply touched. Not too many landlords cared this deeply for their tenants.

Takahiro happened to know Sumi's number, and he called the lad. Sumi claimed that he hadn't seen Misaki for days, in fact he had tried calling several times but had gotten no answer. Takahiro closed his eyes and swore under his breath. He believed Sumi, but no doubt the police would question him and find out if there was anything fishy about his story.

Takahiro felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He sat heavily on the couch and held his head in his hands. A cool hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Takahiro." Akihiko looked on helplessly as Takahiro wept.

Akihiko woke up. It was cool and dark, because his bedroom was an inside room with no windows. He could sleep better in the gloom. Now he lay under the covers, with Suzuki-san on top of him, almost smothering him. A feeling of doom filled his chest.

"Is it safe to wake up?" he murmured to Suzuki-san. Wisely, Suzuki-san decided not to venture an opinion, even when Akihiko squeezed him so tightly he almost perished. Getting no joy from the large, stuffed bear, Akihiko waited for a sign. None came. "I'm awake," he admitted to himself, and got up slowly.

He padded out to the kitchen in his pajama bottoms and started water for tea. He got the teapot and strainer down, and one cup. He stared at it, resenting its singleness, wishing there was a reason to take down a second cup, not that he ever had thought to serve tea for Misaki. He returned to his bedroom and dressed for the day. Underwear. Suit pants. Dress shirt. Tie. Belt. Vest. Socks. Shoes. Akihiko Usami rose, on the outside every inch the man who had won both the Naomori and Kikukawa awards. On the inside, he felt a terrible crumbling feeling, as if his whole self was being turned to sand by Misaki's disappearance.

The water had boiled, so he poured it over the tea leaves waiting in the pot. He wondered idly how it would feel if he poured the hot water on his hand instead. He imagined the burning, searing sensation, and it lightened the pain in his heart for just a few seconds. He set the timer and retrieved his newspaper from the mailbox. By that time, the tea was ready, so he sat at the kitchen table and drank it while reading the newspaper.

In former times, he would have read the headlines first and then gone to the book reviews, then followed up with local news. Now he went straight to the crime beat. Eager eyes roved the page in a spiral, rapidly taking in the headlines, and then once more, slowly, he reread the headlines to make sure he hadn't missed anything of importance. Then on to the local section. This he read meticulously, word for word.

A clue could be hidden in the most mundane of articles or columns, an anxious voice urged him. The question man, he always checked that. A story about the zoo or the Hama Rikyu Garden. Student protests. The debut of a new film. Misaki could turn up anywhere. Anywhere.

Anywhere but in his own home. Akihiko looked around the living room as if Misaki might materialize out of the wall or the couch. He finished with the important parts of the paper and carefully folded it and put it in the stack of discarded papers that was accruing in a corner of the living room. If Misaki had been here, he'd have taken them out to be recycled. So the pile remained.

He let himself out and retrieved his car. He looked at the passenger seat. How many times had Misaki sat there, looking annoyed, bored, cheerful, nervous, chatting, arguing, complaining? His hand strayed to the seat and hovered over the tan leather. "Misaki," he muttered, without knowing he did it.

Time to go. Akihiko had a daily routine: a different route each day, partially overlapping with the day before. His plan was to cover all the districts of Central Tokyo: Akasaka, Akihabara, Asakusa, Chiba, Chiyoda, Ginza,Harajuku, Kotoku, Minatoku, Narita, Odaiba, Roppongi, Shibuya, Shinjuku, Ueno. Misaki had to be somewhere. The boy had never lived anywhere else.

Driving slowly, conning the sidewalks with careful attention for dark hair, pale skin, short stature, that slight slouch. Misaki. Wandering the streets of Tokyo with the aim of finding you.

Endlessly searching, with no results.

On the weekend, Takahiro rode shotgun. Akihiko had a touching faith in the love-seeking properties of Takahiro's eyes. If anyone could find Misaki, it was the brother who had invested so much time and effort in raising him. But now, Takahiro was at work, and Akihiko was patrolling on his own for brown hair, slight figure, canvas bag strapped over his shoulder. _Misaki, I miss you. Come back._

It was dark when Akihiko returned to the apartment. Suzuki-san was waiting dispiritedly on the couch. Akihiko sat and put a comforting arm around the oversized bear. "I tried, Suzuki-san." He got out a cigarette and smoked for a while, he didn't really know how long. Then: "Well, Suzuki-san, I'd say it's time for bed." The bear came along, tucked under one arm. Akihiko took his clothes off in the proper order. He hung up his pants and vest but threw his shirt on the floor. He stared at it as it lay there, a testimony to absence. He crawled into bed, pulling Suzuki-san in with him and covering them both with the comforter. "Good-night, Suzuki-san." Then, more softly, so the bear wouldn't hear, "Good-night, Misaki."

Life had gone on in this way for two weeks. The reading of the newspaper, the daily drive, with or without Takahiro, Manami helping out when she could. Various policemen were spotted lurking in Akihiko's and Takahiro's neighborhoods. Takahiro made an effort to greet the ones he recognized, but Akihiko walked or drove by them stony-faced. Takahiro worried that this would only antagonize them, but Akihiko was too miserable or too stubborn to care.

The second weekend after Misaki's disappearance, Takahiro brought a pot of stew over for Akihiko. Manami had mentioned that Akihiko was looking pale and thin, and so Takahiro had made some of the pork stew that his friend claimed to like.

"Here you go, put this in the refrigerator."

"Thank you, Takahiro." For a moment, Takahiro was afraid that Akihiko would cry. Looking over his shoulder, he got a view of the living room of the apartment. There was a tall stack of newspapers that hadn't been there before, and books piled haphazardly on the kitchen table. Suzuki-san slumped on one couch, looking bedraggled.

"Come on now, we have to be brave." Takahiro went to the table, began straightening the book piles and noticed that the sink was overflowing with dishes.

Akihiko's eyes widened. "We do?"

"Come on, Akihiko, you know what I mean."

"I do, I do. But do you know what that means to me? Do you know what it takes to be brave in my position? You haven't lived with Misaki for a year now. He was with me every day. And now suddenly, every day, he's not with me."

"Wait, I'm his brother. You're just a landlord. Don't act like it's harder on you than it is on me."

A heavy clank signaled the pot of stew being set down on the counter. "Let me tell you something, Takahiro. It's about time you climbed out from under that rock you've been living under. As to who has more right to miss Misaki, you just don't have a clue, do you? Misaki and I are lovers. And I miss him with every breath I take. I miss the sound of his voice, his step on the stairs, his cooking, his 'I'm home' when he walks in the door, and goddamn it, I miss the touch and smell of his body. So, Takahiro, think about that when you deny me my right to miss your brother."

If Akihiko had wanted to see Takahiro stupefied, he had gotten his wish. Takahiro was unable to speak for minutes after Akihiko had finished his speech. His heart pounded in his ears, and his throat felt constricted. There was a strange sensation in his head, and he thought he might pass out.

Takahiro finally found his voice, and it was trembling. "You had sex with Misaki?"

"Yes. Misaki and I are lovers, Takahiro."

"How long?"

"Since before he moved in."

Takahiro went white. "He- he was still in high school. You—you—that's illegal! He's not even legal now!"

"What, are you going to turn me in? Is that what you want to do? Shoot the dead man?"

"I didn't say that, but listen here, Akihiko. How can this have happened? Misaki is a normal kid, he, he isn't into that kind of thing. Now you, I'd guessed about you, but Misaki—"

"Misaki is my lover, whether you like it or not."

"Well, I don't like it. How did you get him to—" This was an awkward conversation. Takahiro really didn't want to have it, but his outrage at the transformation of his brother from a sweet, innocent kid to Akihiko's lover was too much to take without questioning. "How did you get him to do it?"

"You don't really want the details, Takahiro," Akihiko said with a slight smile.

"I just can't believe he'd do that willingly." Takahiro adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"But he did."

"So you say."

"You want details, Takahiro? First I kiss him. I force my way into his mouth with my demanding tongue. "

"Stop it, Akihiko."

"That's what he says, but I don't listen, because I know he really wants it. He's so shy, Takahiro, but that's what I like."

"You're going too far, Akihiko!"

"And then I stick my hand under his shirt and I pinch his delightful, pink nipples. And I make him moan. You should hear it, Takahiro. Just when he thinks he can't take any more, I put my hand in his pants and start stroking."

"Stop it! Stop it! Now you're being cruel!"

"And you don't think your words to me were cruel?"

"This is just too much for me. I have to go."

"What about looking for Misaki? That's who this is supposed to be about."

"Yeah, I'm spending all my free time looking for Misaki because you drove him away."

"I did? What are you talking about?"

"Obviously, you were being yourself, taking advantage of his naivete, letting him slave for you, preventing him from seeing his friends, and he got sick of it and ran off. It's your fault he's gone. Why should I help you clean up your mess? You asshole. If you hadn't been such a neurotic user, Misaki would still be around, and I wouldn't be worrying day and night about him."

"Neurotic user? Is that what you think of me, Takahiro?"

"Yeah, Akihiko. You're a nut job, and it's your fault that Misaki is missing."

"Get the fuck out of here. Get out!"

Takahiro left then. Akihiko leaned his back against the door, closing it with a snap.

The he slid down to the floor. And so began the torrent. Tears slid down his cheeks, first singly, then a steady flow. The pain built up in his chest, until it tore its way out with a sob. "Taka- Taka—Don't go!"

Tears, dirty tears, powered by images of those two men who he had loved so deeply and had now lost. What the fuck had he been thinking, antagonizing Takahiro like that? His only ally.

Emptiness stretched before him in his mind. It made him want to vomit, the thought of life without the Takahashi men. He crawled to his bedroom. He didn't even deserve to walk upright, someone who so callously hurt the man who had been his love of ten years and was the brother of the man he loved. Up into the bed, shoving Suzuki-san aside, and then grabbing him and holding him close. "What have I done?"

And the dirty tears fell until he reached oblivion.

He slept; he dreamed of Tokyo streets, the endless, long, crowded streets of his home, filled with faces that were not Misaki's. Back, further back, he continued to dream, Tanaka holding his coat for him as he was about to leave for school. Looking up into the butler's warm, black eyes. Haruhiko interrupting, and Akihiko left in the empty doorway, his coat half-on.

Walking to school, along empty paths and streets, endlessly walking. How far could the school be? Plodding along, the road stretching far ahead of him.

Finally at school, he sits down, and the boy in front of him turns around. It's Takahiro. He makes a disgusted face and turns back around. No matter how many times Akihiko speaks his name and taps him on the shoulder, Takahiro will not turn around. Finally, he stands and hits Takahiro in the back of the head, causing blood to spurt out. Takahiro turns his head, but he has no face. Akihiko tries to scream, but nothing comes out.

Hiroki comes and takes him by the hand, leading him outside to show him a bundle on the ground. It's an abandoned child. Akihiko picks it up and moves the blanket to see its face. It's Misaki, but it's dead. Akihiko starts crying and cannot stop. Hiroki starts yelling at him. "USAMI-SENSEI! USAMI-SENSEI! USAMI-SENSEI!"

"Usami-sensei! Wake up, can't you? Wake up!"

Someone was lifting him and shaking him. He had to stop it to keep his head from coming off. He put a hand out.

"Usami-sensei! You're awake!" He felt himself smothered.

"Get off me," he tried to say, but all that filtered into his ears was a strange mumbling sound.

"Oh, I'm so happy! I was so worried. Open your eyes, open your eyes!" Now hands were slapping his cheeks. His eyes flew open at the same time as he raised his hands to break the wrists of whoever was abusing his face. Only when he came fully awake, he found he was barely able to lift his hands. He could see his tormentor, though. A thin but shapely and beautiful redheaded monster who went by the name of Aikawa.

"What on earth are you doing in my bedroom?" he asked this vision of evil.

"Sensei, no one has heard from you for over a week! You called me last Saturday, and then you fell off the face of the earth! And look at you! You're emaciated, and I could hardly wake you! I'm calling the emergency services right now."

"Stop that." His voice was a thready whisper, when he meant it to sound angry and commanding.

"Don't even bother with that, sensei. You're probably dehydrated as well as starving. To the hospital with you." She finished her call and turned to him again. "And I bet you haven't finished your chapter."

Glazed eyes stared at her out of dark sockets. She saw no understanding of what she had just said.

"Your chapter? The one you owe me, which was due ten days ago?" She lifted him by his shoulders and began shaking him. "Where is it, Usami-sensei? We're on a deadline, here!"

The door moved, and a man entered. "Hands off the merchandise, Aikawa-kun. Shaking can cause brain damage. You could stand on his nuts, though. I'd like to see that." Isaka. Now Akihiko really did manage to groan.

"Get out."

"Come on now, Akihiko, I'm here for your own good. I saved you from Aikawa. Show some gratitude."

Aikawa, with her monstrous charm, had wangled him a luxurious private room with a view of downtown. The doctor had assessed him as dehydrated and malnourished as well as depressed. Akihiko had resented being summed up in this way, but in proof of the doctor's diagnosis, he hadn't had the energy to put him in his place. A nurse had come and stuck him for an IV, and now he was tethered, lying on his back, eyes fixed on the window.

He had managed to shoo Aikawa and Isaka off, but now he was alone with nothing to do but lie here and remember what had gone before his collapse. Part of him wished Aikawa had been a bit lazier and had just let him fade away, but another, stronger part shoved that thought down and thoroughly rebuked him for allowing himself to get into this state. Misaki was out there somewhere. Would he ever forgive Akihiko if he gave up?

Suddenly he remembered the dream he'd been having when Aikawa had come. Misaki had been dead in the dream. A strange, oozing feeling crept through his chest. He tried to wall it out, but it persisted. What if Misaki was dead? Could anything else have kept him from contacting him or Takahiro?

No. No, no matter if it was possible. It wouldn't be acknowledged by Akihiko Usami. And with that, Akihiko gathered all of the stubbornness and willful ignorance he had in him, and decided he would eat, and drink, and keep his health, and persist to the end, whatever the end would be.

The young doctor who had attended him came in at that point to check on him and was just telling him he could be released tomorrow if he managed to eat and drink enough, when there was a hubbub in the corridor. "Noboru?" he heard, and a nurse came in and pulled the doctor away. No matter. He knew what he needed. From here, his path was clear.


	5. The Demon and the Monster

Chapter 5

The Demon and the Monster

Hastily stuffing the fallen pages back into the file and shoving it back over the desk to the affronted clerk, Kamijou rushed out of the Student Affairs building and back to his own office.

"My sweet honey! Welcome back!" crooned the idiot from his wheeled chair.

"I'm back. But I have an emergency. Can you cover my morning survey class for me?"

"Of course, my beloved Hiroki, anything for you. But naturally I'll want compensation."

"Anything, anything. And don't call me that."

"Anything?" A wide smile crept across the face of Yoh Miyagi. Kamijou groaned but left anyway. He didn't have time for this.

He got on his cell phone as he walked to the subway station. Trying Akihiko's number, he got no answer. That guy had been hard to get hold of lately—what was up with him? But he needed to be available now! Answer the phone, stupid Akihiko! He pressed the disconnect button with unnecessary force and grunted in disgust. Who would know where Akihiko was? The man didn't really have anyone but Kamijou and that boyfriend of his. No, wait. There was Takahiro. By reflex, Kamijou's stomach clenched at the thought of the man. Anyway, it was pointless. He didn't have his phone number.

Instead, he dialed Akihiko's publisher. Aikawa was bound to know something about his whereabouts. The woman was relentless, if Akihiko's stories were to be believed. "Hello? Aikawa-san? This is Hiroki Kamijou, Usami-san's friend. Do you know how I can get hold of him? This is an—uh, what? The hospital? What happened?" Kamijou listened to Aikawa's staccato voice as she retold the story of finding Akihiko in a state of collapse. "What hospital? Okay, I'm on my way. Thanks, Aikawa-san." Kamijou quickened his pace.

When he got there, Akihiko was in street clothes and sitting on his bed looking pissed off.

"Hiroki, just in time. Can you get these people to get a move on with my release papers? If they don't get here soon, I'm just going to leave. I've called Aikawa to come pick me up. You can get a ride from her, too."

"Akihiko, what is this? You collapsed from dehydration and malnutrition, and now you're bored, so you're just leaving the hospital regardless of doctor's instructions?"

"I'm fine. I just need the blasted papers. Oh, forget about it. As soon as Aikawa shows, I'm leaving."

"Hold on a second! Tell me what happened."

"How should I know? I woke up to Aikawa savaging me, and before I knew it, I was here with a needle in my arm."

"Let me see. Translation: you were neglecting your health again."

"I was asleep. How am I supposed to eat and drink when I'm asleep?" Akihiko looked at Kamijou's stormy expression and relented. "Well, yes, I guess I was doing a poor job of keeping my body in shape. But what in hell would you do if that giant left you without a word?"

Oh, shit. Nowaki. He'd forgotten how Nowaki and he…and he had…in the middle of the night.

"Never mind me. We're talking about you and your idiotic inability to care for yourself!"

"Yes, yes." Akihiko fumbled in his pocket and got out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.

"That's not permitted in here, you know." Akihiko put the pack back in his pocket with only a death-dealing glare at his friend. "Listen, Akihiko," Kamijou steeled himself to deliver the news. "Akihiko, I have something to tell you, something good." He sat in the chair next to the bed and put a steadying hand on Akihiko's wrist. "I've found your boy; I've found Misaki."

Akihiko stared at him. After a moment, the hand wandered back to the pocket and extracted the cigarettes again. Slowly, he withdrew a white cylinder and put it in his mouth. He registered the feeling of dry paper on his lips. Finally, he spoke. "Say that again. And say more."

Kamijou took a deep breath. "I've found Misaki. He has amnesia, and I know this is going to come as a shock, but he's at my place. He came into the hospital here, and when he was released, Nowaki invited him to stay with us. We had no idea who he was. He was um, pretty beat up when he first came." Akihiko made a panicked gesture with his hands, and Kamijou hastened to reassure him. "He seems okay, though, except for the amnesia. He doesn't remember who he is, so far as I can tell. But he's there. He's been staying with us for a couple of weeks now."

"Misaki? At your place?" Akihiko still looked stunned.

"Yes, Akihiko. I'm sure it's him. I didn't put two and two together till I looked up his file this morning. I was researching students who hadn't shown up in class, and when I looked in the file, there was his picture. It was only because I saw his address that I even realized he was yours."

Akihiko stared at him.

"You're lucky I figured it out, you bastard. You never introduced the kid to me. In fact, you never told me he was in my survey class." Akihiko was starting to worry him. His face was looking very pasty, and his eyes were a bit unfocused. "Stay," he said, as he got up and poured some water from a pitcher on the patient table into a paper cup. "Drink this." He stood and watched Akihiko drink it down and then stand up.

"Let's go. I need to see Misaki. Now."

"Whoa, hold on a second!" Kamijou managed to stand so he could put both hands on Akihiko and keep him from running out of the hospital room. "Aikawa isn't here yet, so it's no good just running out of here."

"That doesn't matter. How did you get here?" Akihiko tried to move past him, but Kamijou held him in place.

"On the subway, so—"

"Then we'll take the subway. Let's go." Once more, Akihiko tried to force his way by.

"What about your release papers?" Kamijou did his best to force him back onto the bed, but Akihiko was too tall, and he couldn't get leverage.

"Fuck 'em. I have to see Misaki."

"Don't be an ass. It will be faster if we just wait for Aikawa-san. And with you in the state you're in, I doubt you could handle the walk from the subway to my place. So just sit down and wait." When Akihiko tried to resist, he said, "I order you."

Just then, a familiar fluting voice was heard in the hallway. "Hello, ladies. I'm looking for Usami-sensei's room. I'm his ride home! Do you have his release papers all ready? Oh, good, I knew you would!"

For the first time in many years, Kamijou was tempted to kiss a woman.


	6. Exciting Story in 32 Pages!

Chapter 6

Exciting Story in 32 Pages! Staying in his Friend's Apartment Unbeknownst!

Aikawa sat between the two men in the cab, though Lord knew why, as sliding along a car seat in a short skirt is no girl's idea of fun. The things she did for this man, she thought, glancing over at him under long eyelashes, whose seductive beauty was completely lost on him. But Aikawa didn't mind at all. She was going to be present at a real-life drama, one that might even fit well into one of Usami-sensei's more colorful type of novels, by which, of course, she meant his Boys Love novels. She almost clapped her hands in delight, but she remembered her dignity as an editor and restrained herself.

Of course, Aikawa knew this was a serious matter and couldn't be treated as if it were one of sensei's sensational stories. Misaki was a real person with real problems: she mustn't enjoy this drama with complete detachment as if there were no real feelings involved. Actual, real medical problems that had caused a complete loss of memory! No knowledge of who he was, where he came from, or who his real friends were! A boy ripe for exploitation! _Calm down, Aikawa!_ she told herself. She glanced to her other side at the young man who was sensei's childhood friend. He seemed very high strung for someone who wasn't directly involved in the crisis. Though of course, Misaki had been staying at his apartment, unbeknownst to Usami-sensei! Yes! Completely unbeknownst! Aikawa once more repressed an urge to clasp her hands under her chin and make the sound that is known as a "squee."

The cab had arrived at an unimposing, pinkish apartment building. The contents of the cab disgorged on the pavement; Akihiko and Aikawa followed Kamijou up the stairs and into the living room of his apartment.

"I'm home," he announced, moving back to the bedroom, gesturing for Aikawa and Akihiko to stay where they were. Nowaki was in the bedroom, shrugging into a turtleneck.

"Hiro-san. You're home so early. Did you bring someone home? What's happened?"

"Did you just get up? Where's Noboru?"

At the mention of Noboru's name, his eyes glanced over to their bed and then back to Kamijou. Then, with his face tinged red, he said, "He's gone. He was gone when I woke up."

"What are you saying? You mean he went out for errands?"

"No, I mean he's left. There was a note in the kitchen." Nowaki pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket and handed it over to Kamijou. But Kamijou heard a footstep behind him, and a long, slender hand reached around him and snatched the note out of his hand.

"Dear Dr. Kusama," Akihiko read. "Thank you for everything you've done for me. It's time for me to be on my own. Tell Professor Kamijou thank you for me. Noboru."

"Usami-sensei, what are you doing here?"

Kamijou's eyes were full of anger when he lifted his face to Nowaki. "You idiot. Why did you let him leave? Noboru is Misaki Takahashi."

"Who?"

"Misaki Takahashi. Akihiko's boyfriend. The one who lives with him."

"Oh." Nowaki looked so stupid just standing there. Then, "Usami-sensei? Are you okay?" Kamijou turned. Akihiko was staring at the note and looking very pale.

"Who is Noboru?" he asked.

"That's the name that Misaki used. He still doesn't have any idea of who he is," Kamijou answered, guiding Akihiko back out to the living room and making him sit down. Nowaki came behind them. He clearly was in trouble for not preventing Noboru from leaving, so he went into the kitchen to make tea.

As for Aikawa, she was disappointed not to see Misaki come out with the two men, but when she realized that he had vanished again, her eyes lit up with excitement. "Where could he be?" she asked.

"I don't know. I never kept track of his movements," Kamijou said, regretting for the first time having ignored the man he had thought of as Noboru so completely. "Nowaki!" he spoke sharply. Nowaki came out carrying a tray with tea and cups and set it on the low table. "Never mind that! Where did Noboru hang out? Where do you think he could have gone?"

Aikawa felt a little bad for Nowaki bearing the brunt of Kamijou's temper. She took charge of pouring the tea. She fixed Usami-sensei's first and pressed it into his hands.

"Well, he said that the social services were going to pay for an apartment for him while he took the cooking course," he said, "But he didn't mention actually having a place yet. We could probably find him at the culinary institute, but his course doesn't start for another two weeks."

"Two weeks? Where else might he go?"

"I don't know!" Nowaki raised his voice, and Akihiko jerked his head to look at him. "Why is he important to you now, Hiro-san? You ignored him completely before! You made him feel unwelcome, and now he's gone!"

Nowaki saw that Aikawa and Akihiko were both staring at him now; Aikawa looked uncomfortable, but Akihiko looked angry.

"I don't know. So far as I am aware, the only one he really knows is me." Nowaki felt a pang as he faced the fact that, even though Nowaki was his only friend, Noboru had left so suddenly and without any word of how to contact him.

He was interrupted by Aikawa asking him if he wanted any cream or sugar. He shook his head, and she placed a warm cup in his hands. He sipped his cup and felt the heat flood him along with the chagrin of losing Noboru. His throat tightened.

"Excuse me, everyone, but I have to leave for work," he said, abruptly. He put the tea down, took his jacket off its hook and left.

Akihiko slipped out the door and followed him down the stairs. "Kusama."

Nowaki turned around, startled.

"I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of Misaki."

"I did it for his sake, you understand," he said with reserve. "He was suddenly without anyone, without even memories of happy times. I wanted to provide him with a refuge. Hiro-san doesn't understand that. People who suffer a sudden loss need a refuge. " Nowaki blushed, realizing he'd said too much.

"What else did you do for him that I don't know about, Kusama?" Akihiko fixed Nowaki with a piercing stare.

Nowaki flinched, but only said, "I hope you find him, Usami-sensei."

Akihiko had already taken his cell phone from his pocket when he reentered the apartment and was dialing information to get the number for social services and for the culinary institute. "I'll go out there and browbeat his address from them if I have to," he said.

"Oh no, you don't! You're going home to rest!" chimed in Aikawa. "Leave the legwork to me. You know you can rely on me, sensei!" She took the phone from his hand and closed it. "Now sit down again. Professor Kamijou, would you please call us a cab?" She fluttered her eyelashes before she remembered that he, too, was gay.

Ten minutes later, the cab dropped Kamijou off at the university and whisked Aikawa and her charge off for research and recuperation. Akihiko looked as if he had something more to discuss with him, but he hadn't voiced it, perhaps because of Aikawa. Kamijou cursed to himself, realizing he had sacrificed his morning classes for a miserable debacle. He had failed to achieve what he'd hoped, and then there had been Nowaki. Nowaki had acted strange in the bedroom. What had he done? Looked at their bed when Kamijou had asked about Noboru. Kamijou shook his head as if trying to rid it of the image and walked up the path toward his building.

Aikawa had gotten sensei settled and comfortable on the couch with a hot cup of tea, a book and a notepad, you know, she said, in case he got any ideas while he was resting.

She got on the phone and using her super-powerful executive editor persona, discovered that neither the man at social services nor the woman at the culinary institute had Misaki's address. She was sure if they had had it, it would have been hers.

"Don't worry, sensei," she said to a sensei who very clearly was not only worried but at the edge of his endurance, "I'll find him. Just leave it to Aikawa."

He turned hollow eyes up to her and was about to speak, when she took his hands and forced the cup up to his lips. "Drink!" she said.

Eri Aikawa had been raised the only child of proud parents with high expectations. She had never permitted herself to learn the true meaning of failure. This was what made her such a good match for Akihiko Usami. She matched his stubborn self-centeredness with an iron will and fearlessness that spelled his defeat about half the time they went toe to toe. In this case, she was happy to put the same qualities at his service. She felt sure that working side by side they could do almost anything that involved getting something out of someone.

Therefore she had not one single doubt that Misaki Takahashi's phone number would be in her hand and in her cell phone before two days had passed.


	7. The Lawnmower

Chapter 7

The Lawnmower

Akihiko knew that at some level the search for Misaki was a game to Aikawa. It was her strength: a certain detachment from the sturm und drang of ordinary human life. It was one of the things that made her so dangerous. She loved people in the way that most people love cake. He had done his best to keep her away from Misaki for that very reason; his innocence and openness made him grist for her grinding jaw.

But now, he was completely at her mercy. He needed her energy and persistence and her sheer lack of fear on his side. In this case, it helped that she was unaffected by the grief of losing Misaki. Akihiko was not someone who was able to step back and look at himself objectively with the eye of an outsider, but even he could tell that the departure of Misaki had weakened him, physically and mentally.

But he held to what he'd sworn to in the hospital: he had rededicated himself to finding his lover and to not giving up. Aikawa was one of the tools he planned to use to find Misaki and bring him back. His job was to make sure the tool didn't dominate the craftsman, like a runaway lawnmower with the hapless gardener trailing along behind in terror.

Though the thought of keeping Aikawa in check was daunting, he tried to keep his focus on Misaki. He needed him back. This damned penthouse was too empty without him. It was odd to think that he'd lived here alone all those years and not realized how empty it was without Misaki, and now that was all he could think of.

The phone rang, and Akihiko jumped off the couch to pick up.

"Good morning, sensei! It is I, Aikawa!"

"What is it? Did you get the phone number?"

"Sorry to get you all excited, sensei!" Aikawa giggled over the line, and Akihiko felt a surge of murderous intent. "Ah, ah!" She hesitated; apparently murderous intent can be sensed over the telephone. "I just wanted to let you know that I have an appointment today with the head of the culinary institute! I'm leaving now! And don't forget to work on your current chapter!"

Akihiko hung up without responding. Lawnmower. Chewing up his heart and throwing it out in little bits all over the place. He dived back onto the couch, grabbing Suzuki-san as he did so and hugging him.

"How do I do it, Suzuki-san? How do I find Misaki without letting Aikawa eat me up?"

Suzuki reached up a furry paw and stroked Akihiko's cheek. "I'm just a stupid stuffed bear, but you're smart, master. You'll figure something out."

"Thank you, Suzuki-san." He kissed the bear's paw.

"Eri Aikawa to see the director," Aikawa sang in her editorial voice to the school secretary. Aikawa was led into a small office that would have been light-filled if it weren't for the stacks of books and papers that partially obscured the tall windows.

A handsome woman with her hair in a bun and one curl escaping over her cheek looked up over her glasses with distracted eyes. Aikawa bowed and held it a moment before straightening. "Thank you for seeing me, Madame Director. My name is Eri Aikawa, and I represent Akihiko Usami, the award-winning author of—"

The director half-rose and sat again and said, "Yes, I know who you are; please be seated. Your business with me is?" The director's voice was deep and pleasant, but definitely frigid. Aikawa wondered in a moment of distraction whether she specialized in frozen foods.

"Usami-sensei is conducting a private search for his protégé, Misaki Takahashi. We've recently discovered that Misaki is afflicted with amnesia and is pursuing rehabilitation by means of taking the cooking course at your school. Through an unfortunate turn of events, no one has been able to find him to tell him about his identity, and I am seeking to contact him through your school, Madame Director. He is registered here as Noboru Nakamura."

"Yes, I'm familiar with Mr. Nakamura's file."

"Not to put it too bluntly, Madame Director, but I can see you are a busy woman. I am here to request your assistance in the form of Mr. Nakamura's phone number and address." Aikawa fixed the director with a steely and determined eye. She was giving it her best shot.

"I'm afraid I can't help you, Ms. Aikawa." The director rose, as if to dismiss her guest.

"But…"

"It's impossible. Our student records are confidential. Even though Mr. Nakamura isn't famous like Usami-sensei, I'm sure you wouldn't give away his phone number and address to just anyone who came in and looked you in the eye," here, the director paused meaningfully, "and asked." She smiled faintly.

"But, Madame Director, I'm not just anyone. I'm Misaki's friend! His friends and family miss him and are waiting to welcome him back." Aikawa remained seated, even though her training urged her to stand.

"Ms. Aikawa. I don't know of any Misaki Takahashi. My student is Noboru Nakamura, and I protect his privacy just like any other student, no matter who wants to know about him."

"But, Madame—"

"When classes begin, Ms. Aikawa, the public are allowed to observe on Fridays on a first-come first-served basis. Usami-sensei or yourself would be permitted to enter the classroom just like any other member of the public and observe the lesson. Perhaps you would care to visit us this coming Friday and observe?"

Aikawa stood, admitting defeat. She had met her match—for now. She bowed deeply. "Thank you for your time, Madame Director. I'll leave you."

"Good day, Ms. Aikawa," came the deep and lovely voice as Aikawa exited the office.


	8. New Life

Chapter 8

New Life

Noboru Nakamura. That's what the little name plate outside the apartment door said, so you had to believe it. He smoothed the placard over with his fingers, feeling the recesses made by the characters of his name. Hah. His "name." He had to remind himself every so often that it was a made-up name and that his real one was still floating out there somewhere, known by someone but not by him.

He pushed away the thought and let himself in with the key and dumped his new text books, uniform, and utensils on the bed. Attending culinary school was not cheap, what with everything you had to buy. He felt a little guilty that social services were spending all this money just to educate him, but he was really happy. Without this training, he wouldn't have been able to support himself. He guessed that was why they did it.

He stared at the bed. He was beat and would have liked to lie down on it, if he hadn't just dumped all his purchases there. He began to take everything out of bags. He arranged the books on a board-and-brick bookcase he'd assembled, hung the uniform up, and then sat on the bed and took the knives out of their case. They were shiny and very sharp. When he touched them, his stomach tightened, and he looked forward to the first day of classes with excitement. Monday, that was tomorrow.

Noboru woke up at 5:00, he was so nervous about his first day at the academy. He carefully dressed in his uniform: a double-breasted chef's coat with large, folding collar, checked pants, and a small white hat. His hair was tied back with one of the elastics he'd bought specially. Looking in the mirror, he thought he looked very professional. Too bad he didn't know much about cooking. Not yet, anyway.

Taking a deep breath, he checked his pocket for the subway ticket, shouldered his knife satchel, turned out the lights, and headed out the door. "Good luck, me," he whispered, as he headed down the apartment stairs.

After he'd assembled with the other new students and received his class schedule, he headed for his very first class meeting, which would be Culinary Foundations I. He eyed the other students in their brand-new uniforms headed in the same direction as him and wondered if they felt the same excitement he did.

By the end of the day, his feet were tired from standing, and his coat was splotched with stains of various colors. Wearing the cap all day and sweating under it had made his head itch. As excited as he'd been in the morning, he was eager to return to his poky little apartment, rest, and have dinner.

Dinner. Well, it might be ironic for someone who was learning to make the finest cuisine, but after purchasing his school supplies, he'd had very little of his stipend left and had had to settle for cup ramen. He poured the hot water in and let it sit for the three minutes while he changed out of his dirty coat and pants. After changing, he ran down to the laundry room to make sure he got them washed and dried before he dropped from exhaustion.

Day two of cooking school was only a little less chaotic and just as tiring. Noboru's pastry teacher was a perfectionist and a terror. He was fairly certain someone was going to end up crying before the week was out.

Once more he made sure to get his uniform into the laundry before the office workers made it home for the evening. Putting his chef's coat in the washing machine, he was reminded of Nowaki in his white coat. Dr. Kusama had taken good care of him. He felt a pang of guilt. He had taken off with just a note and hadn't called since he'd left two weeks before. Before he knew what he was doing, he was back on the subway, headed for the hospital. Even if he'd felt like facing Professor Kamijou, the doctor was only home when Noboru was either asleep or in school. This was the only way to talk to him.

Once more, the nurses were delighted to see him and were now able to call him Noboru without hesitation. He grinned at them and told them about the Academy. Once more, one of them hustled off to find Nowaki without his having to ask.

He heard the soft step, and then there he was. Noboru was unexpectedly moved by the sight of the tall doctor with his disorderly black hair. He noticed right off that Nowaki was pale, and his eyes were shadowed. The doctor rushed up to him, but then stopped three feet off.

"Noboru." There was a crack and a hesitation in the voice. Noboru was overcome with a sudden urge to embrace the forlorn-looking doctor. "Have you had dinner?"

"Ah, no, but I don't want to—"

"Let's go, then!" He handed a chart to one of the nurses. "It'll be okay if I go now?" The nurse waved him off, and touching the back of Noboru's arm, he followed him into the elevator.

"I was just going to get some take-out; you don't have to feed me."

"No, no! I want to hear how you're doing. You left so—I want to hear about school!"

They went to a sandwich shop and got sandwiches to go. Then Nowaki said, "I'm curious to see your place. Is it far?"

"No, but don't you have to get back to work?"

"It's fine. It was slow, and if things pick up, they have my cell number."

The two men rode the subway back to Noboru's neighborhood. As they exited the station, Nowaki pretended to admire the neighborhood where Noboru had found his small apartment, but Noboru could hear a strain in his tone, and he wondered what it was about. He felt a pang of guilt again.

"Dr. Kusama, I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly. I know I didn't give you any notice."

"It's okay, Noboru. I knew you had to go eventually. But what made you leave so suddenly?"

"I just—I didn't want to be in anyone's way. I just felt like—Professor Kamijou didn't seem comfortable having me around. And I'm sure having a strapping young man right there in the middle of your home isn't the best situation," he said, thinking how ridiculous he sounded.

"Noboru." They were almost at his apartment, but Nowaki stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Huh?" Noboru looked up at him. It was dark, though, and he couldn't really make out Nowaki's expression.

"It was my fault. I mean, the atmosphere. You shouldn't feel bad about Professor Kamijou or being in the way or anything. It wasn't anything you did: it was me."

"What are you talking about? You were kind to me and took good care of me! You—"

"Do you think that was all out of kindness, Noboru? Don't you remember this at all?" And Nowaki pulled him closer and kissed him. A shock went through Noboru's body, a sense of doing wrong, and he began to pull away, but at the same time, the heat of Nowaki's kiss penetrated his lips; the shock turned to a thrill of arousal. With an effort, he pushed Nowaki away. "Um, Dr. Kusama, this probably isn't a good idea."

"Noboru." Nowaki held both of his arms. "I love you."

"You don't mean have P-professor Kamijou!"

"I know that, but I can't resist you." He kissed Noboru's neck, but Noboru reached one hand out and pushed him off again.

"Stop! Why me, when you have a lover already?"

"Because you are like a lost child, separated from your family. You're alone, and you're brave. You deserve this much love. You deserve more."

Noboru felt Nowaki's hands on him. What was Dr. Kusama even talking about? He loved him because he was alone? "How do you know that? You don't even know who I am!" Then Nowaki's lips were on his again, blowing away his resistance. One of Nowaki's long legs slipped between his, rubbing on his half-hard cock. Noboru tried to pull away again, but Nowaki captured his wrists with both of his massive hands and pinned them against the wall.

"Stop that! People can see!" Noboru turned his head to the side to escape Nowaki's kiss. But Nowaki only laughed and kissed him again.

They stood that way for a long while. Nowaki kept coming back for more, as if he was making a meal of Noboru's chapped mouth. Noboru continued to protest between kisses, but his heart wasn't in it. Finally, Nowaki stopped long enough to breathe, "Your apartment."

Hello everyone. This is kokiden. Sorry to write this note so far into the story.

This story is an old one, written in August 2008. My friend AG and I aimed to write a rollicking, dramatic, sexy story, and we sat down and knocked it out in about three weeks. We had the most fun doing it, too! At the time, we got a lot of criticism for writing Nowaki and Hiroki out of character (oh and Shinobu as well). Looking at the story once more, so far, I agree that Nowaki would never do the things he's doing, and Hiroki wouldn't do at least one of the things we have him do. I'd kind of like to rewrite it, but I have a lot going on. So enjoy it, such as it is!


	9. Doctor and Patient

Chapter 9

Doctor and Patient

"Your apartment," Nowaki said softly. Noboru esitated. "I want you," Nowaki continued, his voice cracking with desire. "Take me there."

"Dr. Kusama," Noboru hedged. Nowaki licked inside his ear. He could feel the young man shudder.

"Take me there, or I'll drag you over to that convenience store and do this in front of the cash register," Nowaki laughed into Noboru's ear, then he stuck his tongue in again.

"N-noooo," Noboru moaned. Nowaki had him. He turned the younger man around and hustled him toward what he guessed was Noboru's apartment. When he got to the staircase, Noboru walked up automatically.

The apartment was tiny. Nowaki would say it was the bare minimum. His heart filled with anger that Noboru preferred this little hole to living with him. But it wasn't the size of the place, he knew. It was Hiro-san—him and Hiro-san.

Hiro-san, Hiro-san. Why was he doing this, as Noboru had said, when he belonged to Hiro-san? He had pursued the man singlemindedly, had made a life with him, had put them both through hell already. So why was he here?

Noboru picked several textbooks up off the bed and put them on a board-and-brick bookshelf and then gestured for Nowaki to sit down. He dropped onto the bed with a whump, pulling Noboru down onto his lap as he did so. Holding the beautiful face in his hands, Nowaki searched the green eyes for an answer as to why he was willing to risk his hard-won relationship with Hiro-san to have just a piece of this kid.

"What is it about you that touches me so much?" he asked.

"I don't know!" Noboru replied, trying to scramble out of Nowaki's lap, but the larger man used the strength in his arms and large hands to keep him where he wanted him. "The only thing special about me is that I don't know who I am. That doesn't seem like much of a recommendation!"

Nowaki shifted Noboru's legs so he straddled the doctor's lap. Nowaki used his hands to cup the round globes of younger man's ass.

"Have you been fucked by a man before?" Nowaki asked.

Noboru blushed hotly. "Yes, I'm pretty sure," was the reply, as he continued to struggle to get off the doctor's lap.

That's right. Noboru was Misaki, and Misaki belonged to Usami-san. Nowaki couldn't forget that. He couldn't forget exactly who he was hurting by pursuing this passion. Here he was, overriding all of Noboru's hesitations, knowing full well he was right to rebuff him, for Hiro-san's sake, for Usami's sake, and for his own sake.

"When I heard you and the professor making love one night, I-I sort of remembered something."

"What was it?"

"N-nothing much; just the sensation of being p-p…"

"Penetrated?" Nowaki asked softly. And Noboru's face was overtaken by a rolling flush, creeping from his hairline down almost to his chin.

The sight of that blush pushed Nowaki over the edge. Even though he knew it was wrong, and a betrayal of both men he loved, not to mention this third troublesome man, Usami-san. He dived in with another, more violent, kiss, and another. He swept Noboru's mouth with his tongue, taking deep tastes of him. Noboru began to react; Nowaki felt his mouth open. When he felt the suction on his tongue, he thought he'd lose his mind.

"I can't hold back anymore," he muttered. He undid Noboru's pants, and the boy stood so he could slide them off. Both men were presented with the evidence of Noboru's arousal then. Nowaki groaned. He pulled Noboru's shirt off and looked at him. A thin, slight body, with high, pink nipples that were invitingly erect. A thatch of straight, black pubic hair. Nowaki couldn't resist and brushed his fingers through it. Noboru's hips thrust forward at the touch. Nowaki let his fingers brush lightly along the length of his dick in a scooping motion, from the balls to the glans. An incoherent sound came from Noboru, and Nowaki looked up into his face. He was flushed, his eyes shining with desire, a pathetic, helpless look on his face.

Gently, Nowaki pulled Noboru to the bed and had him lie down. He brushed Noboru's dick one time and watched it jump before he took his own clothes off. Then he knelt between Noboru's legs and ran his hands down the slender body, taking in the pale skin, unblemished except for a freckle on the left hip. Noboru looked as if he was feeling nervous, so he lay down on top of him and kissed his neck and the side of his face until the younger man responded with his own kisses. Soon, Noboru was moaning faintly and moving around beneath Nowaki, rubbing his erection against Nowaki's belly.

Nowaki moved down and gently caressed Noboru's balls and then took his cock slowly into his mouth, sliding it in and out of his mouth and then lingering over the head, letting it slip in and out of his mouth and then plunging down so that the tip hit the back of his throat. Noboru's suppressed groan drove Nowaki into a frenzy. He reached a hand underneath the compact ass and squeezed, while still sliding the cock in and out of his mouth. "Noboru," he said, letting the wet and glistening erection lapse. Instead, he sucked on his own fingers, coating them with saliva, and poked his index finger into Noboru's opening. Noboru flinched a little, but then all was calm as Nowaki inched that one finger in, feeling the enticing heat of Noboru's insides, the walls of Noboru's rectum pressing in on, squeezing his finger. He used his thumb to stroke the fleshy area between the balls and anus; Noboru pressed against his hand, encouraging him with little grunts.

He slid the finger out, let more spit drip on the index and middle fingers, then slowly fit those into Noboru's tiny hole. Noboru showed no sign of pain, so Nowaki pressed into him more eagerly, until his fingers were as far as he could get them. He turned his hand slightly so he could stroke the upper surface of the rectum, searching for the spot, until a sudden intake of breath from his companion told him he was there. He teased the spot repeatedly, until Noboru seemed to be unaware of his surroundings, his eyes wild and unfocussed, his head giving brief shakes to one side or the other, his breathing audible. Then Nowaki withdrew his fingers and recoated them.

"I'm going to put three fingers in now. Let me know if I'm hurting you, but I think you're ready." Once more with care, he inserted the three long fingers into Noboru's heat. He inched them until he could go no further, then he stroked the prostate again, working Noboru up so he'd be receptive to the next step.

Then he began fucking him with his fingers. Not fast, but steadily and firmly. He watched Noboru's face, halfway between that of an angel and a drowning man.

Noboru himself could hardly tell if he were dying or achieving ecstasy. All feeling was jumbled into a great chaos of sensation that was so pleasurable it negated his existence. He tried to ride the waves of pleasure but kept finding himself pulled under. He felt himself reaching a peak, and somewhere in the back of his mind something told him to warn Nowaki, to say, "I'm coming," but all that he could get out was "Aaaaaaa, aaaaaaaaa!" At that point the fingers were removed again, and Noboru felt himself to be a stranded fish, left gasping on the shore, with the ocean a dream of ecstasy, still within hearing, but unreachable.

Then Nowaki was on top of him, adjusting Noboru's hips to point upwards, putting a pillow under them, and there was heat against his ass again, Nowaki's heat, a powerful lump of flesh pressing against him, and entering. A searing sensation, a resistance, a stretching, and then penetration. Nowaki stop and panted above him. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yes," Noboru was barely able to reply, rocking his hips to urge Nowaki to continue. Nowaki could't keep his own hips from responding. He pushed deeper inside the small man underneath him, feeling the tight heat welcome him.

"I'm inside Noboru," he thought. Control slipping away, he crammed himself into Noboru until his pubes touched Noboru's firm cheeks. "I'm all the way in," he said out loud; Noboru's reply was a grunt, his eyes squeezed shut. "Are you really okay? Look at me," Nowaki said, his voice gentle. The eyes opened, revealing themselves green and tender, sweet and full of trust. "Yes, you're okay," whispered Nowaki. And he resumed, slowly, tenderly, using his dick as a benediction, to transfer directly to Noboru the feelings in his heart right now: the joy, the fevered desire, the hope of happiness. "Noboru." Slowly he worked up until he was banging him fiercely, hotly, the sound of their bodies meeting obscene, embarrassing, the slap of flesh on flesh, but Nowaki wouldn't stop.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Noboru had begun vocalizing again. That, combined with the hot sweet pressure inside, put Nowaki over the top, and he came all at once before he could say anything. Noboru knew, though, because Nowaki shouted too, in time with his orgasm, in time with Noboru's own cries.

Nowaki pumped him a few, five, ten more times. His body didn't want to stop, his soul wanted to merge with Noboru's for eternity. Then slowly, he lowered himself onto this being who had yielded so sweetly to him. "Noboru."

"Usagi-san," he answered, sleepily.

It wasn't until the middle of the night that Noboru awoke with Nowaki still on top of him and remembered that his uniform needed to be dried. And he was hungry.


	10. Broken Dreams

Chapter 10

Broken Dreams

"Mmmmm Manami, say it. Say 'I love you.'"

"No!"

"You know you do, say it."

The feeling was awkward, but with a heart-pounding intensity. Noboru lay on the bed, and there was a man on top of him. The man was long and lean, and he was kissing Noboru, caressing his crotch and breasts—breasts?—and demanding he tell him he loved him. He knew he loved this man, but for some reason, he wasn't permitted to say it, no matter how much the man begged.

Noboru sat up, bathed in sweat, feeling as if he'd just been given an electric shock. His body was vibrating with some unknown emotion.

He had dreamed he was a woman named Manami, being made love to by a man with silvery hair and narrow eyes that sparkled. The feeling of the dream lingered, pressing down on him like a headache. He glanced over and got another shock when he saw Nowaki sleeping next to him. The man looked so peaceful, in contrast to the panic that Noboru felt rising in him. He shook the man he'd let fuck him last night. Oh, God.

"Dr. Kusama! Dr. Kusama! It's morning! You'd better get up!"

Nowaki stirred slowly. He opened his eyes and looked up at Noboru, who was now struggling into his uniform. Nowaki reached out, pulled him back onto the bed, and began pulling the unbuttoned chef's coat back off him.

"Hey! Cut it out, Doctor! I have to get ready for class!" But Nowaki acted as if he hadn't heard and pressed a wet mouth on Noboru's chest, teasing a nipple with his tongue. "NnnnnNNnooo!"

Nowaki raised hooded eyes to him: "That didn't sound like much of an objection." His hand strayed to Noboru's thigh, lightly touching and traveling up bare skin toward his cock.

I should have put my underwear on first, Noboru thought, but he let the hand creep up and caress his cock, which was already growing stiff. To his embarrassment, his hips seemed to decide to move on their own, rubbing his stiffening member on Nowaki's hand, making the tall man chuckle.

Nowaki pulled Noboru closer and leaned down to take the now-hard cock in his mouth. Noboru pressed on his head as if to push himself off but found his arms had no strength—that must have been it, because instead of pushing, he was stroking the black hair, encouraging Nowaki. He heard himself gasping, and somehow the sound aroused him further, and he threw his head back and gave in to the pleasure.

The really great thing about having Dr. Kusama perform oral sex on him was how much the older man seemed to enjoy it. Noboru looked down at the doctor as he tenderly slurped and licked, making guttural noises in his throat as if enjoying a delicious feast. It gave Noboru shivers up his spine. He rubbed the head again, but he felt a jolt of arousal and unthinkingly pressed Nowaki into him. Nowaki responded by moving faster. The friction increased, and Nowaki began to caress his balls. "I can't take anymore! D-doctor Kusama! I'm coming!" Nowaki did not pull off, but kept it up until Noboru had shot his semen up his partner's throat. Nowaki's hands came up and held Noboru's ass as he gently sucked. Finally, he let Noboru go and pressed his face against the younger man's abdomen.

"Ah, Noboru. So good," he sighed. Noboru was tempted to caress the shaggy head once more, but even in the wake of orgasm, impatience rose in him.

"That was irresponsible! I have to be at class, and you! You never went home!" Noboru went into the bathroom to wash himself off. He would have preferred to shower, but now that was impossible. A new student couldn't get to class late. Nowaki appeared in the doorway and watched Noboru wash his dick. Noboru shut the door and finished dressing in privacy. He emerged five minutes later to find Nowaki dressed as well.

"Come on, I have to go! Do you have everything?"

Nowaki gave him a goofy grin, which made Noboru cluck his tongue in irritation. He grabbed his knife satchel and jacket and waved Nowaki through the door, shutting it behind them. He trotted down the stairs, Nowaki trailing him. The doctor caught up with him on the pavement, looping an arm through his.

"I'm not kidding, Dr. Kusama! I need to get to the subway station now, or I'll be late!"

"I know. I just want to walk with you."

"But I need to walk fast!"

"Okay." Nowaki gave him another sweet smile and sped up. Once inside the subway gates, Noboru ran for the platform, calling over his shoulder.

"Sorry, Dr. Kusama! I really have to go!"

"I'll call you!" replied Nowaki. Noboru heard him but did not reply as he started running down the stairs.

Nowaki made his slower way to another platform, raising his hand to check his watch. His watch was not on his wrist. He must have forgotten it at Noboru's apartment. Far from being annoyed, he found himself smiling. The sign on the platform showed the time at 7:07. Hiro-san would be getting ready to leave for the university. Nowaki's heart gave a huge thump. He knew there would be a tense scene waiting at home for him, but he never considered not going home.

"I'm home," he said as he entered the apartment, remembering all of the times when he had said this. Normally, he came home late at night when there was no one to greet him. And normally, he didn't have anything so heavy weighing on his heart. Even the death of a patient was something he could bring home with a free heart, because though he might have failed as a doctor, he could still consider himself righteous in relation to his world. Last night, he had violated one of the principles of his life, and he entered his apartment a tainted man.

Not that he regretted making love with Noboru—not at all. When he thought of it, he couldn't help feeling happy. But he was in a poor relation with every part of his life except Noboru, and he couldn't let that go on.

He heard Hiro-san moving around in the bedroom. To his guilty ears, the movements sounded staccato and agitated. To confirm this impression, a sharp noise issued from the bedroom, followed by curses. Hiro-san must have knocked something over on his dresser, a bottle of cologne or the cup where he kept his change.

Taking a deep breath, Nowaki walked to the doorway and stood. "Good morning, Hiro-san." Kamijou froze with his back to the door. Moments passed, before he spoke.

His head was at an unnatural angle, as if he were trying to see something on the front of his shirt. "Where have you been?" He was trying for a calm, neutral tone, but the strain in his voice betrayed him.

"I'm sorry to have worried you, Hiro-san." Nowaki took a step into the room toward the man who he'd thought was his life.

"You bastard, answer me. Where the fuck were you?" Hiro-san's voice trembled. Nowaki couldn't bear it. But he must bear it.

"I was with Noboru, at his apartment."

A dry, choking sound came from the dresser. Kamijou was laughing, but it was a horrible sound. Nowaki cringed. "Help-helping him get moved in, is that it? Unpacking boxes?" Kamijou still stood in that odd position, with his head cocked downward, as if he were studying the dust on the dresser top or the hairs collected in his brush that sat there.

"No, Hiro-san. We were having sex."

There was another sound, like a cry, and Hiro-san was folding up, like a canvas chair. He sat on the floor and brought his hands to his head. Nowaki's heart ached, and he wanted to go to him, but what good would that do? _What good?_ he thought. Nowaki was paralyzed for a moment, just staring at his lover crumpled in that posture of despair.

"Hiro-san," he wanted to murmur, but he denied himself that indulgence. It would be an indulgence, because he had nothing to offer Hiro-san right now. Instead, he left and pulled a bag out of the tall closet in the living room, returned to the bedroom and began pulling clothes out of his own dresser. Then he went into the bathroom and got his razor, his deodorant, his toothpaste, his toothbrush. So many small things, each of them purchased with the intent of living with Hiro-san in happiness. Why was he doing this?

He came back into the bedroom to find Kamijou in the same position.

"Get out! Get the fuck out of my apartment, and don't even think of trying to worm your way back!"

"I'm going."

This must have shocked Hiro-san, because he turned a pink and white, tear-stained face to Nowaki, a face with a look of complete shock.

"You're…going?"

"Good-bye Hiro-san."


	11. The Healing of Hiroki

Chapter 11

The Healing of Hiroki

Yoh Miyagi was having a wonderful morning. There were scrolls all over the large table he sometimes used as a workspace: he was swimming in a small sea of poetry. Not only that, but the lustful Shinobu-chin had sucked him off that morning, while whacking himself off. Life was good, and Yoh Miyagi was King of Life.

Finally, he had to take a cigarette break. He did not smoke while studying old texts. He fished a packet of cigarettes out from under some papers on his desk. What were they? Oh, yes, attendance sheets. He clucked his tongue and tucked the cigarette in his mouth, lighting it with his favorite lighter, glancing down at the attendance sheets, which made him think suddenly of Kamijou. Where was the young lad? He glanced up at the government-issue wall clock. 8:05. Five minutes after Kamijou's survey class started, and his sweet honey hadn't paid a visit to the office.

Kamijou was as reliable as the Yamanote Line. He'd better run down the hall to the classroom to make sure everything was all right. He didn't even have to look it up: he knew it well. All those times Kamijou accidentally ran into him, giving him opportunities to inquire into his attendance progress, were not accidents at all, but part of Miyagi's regularly scheduled entertainment.

As he approached the classroom, he heard the dull roar that meant a classfull of students at unexpected liberty. He peered cautiously around the doorway and saw what he had expected: lack of Kamijou. He stepped all of the way in, placed himself front and center and raised both hands in a confident gesture.

"Hello, hello, for those who don't know me, I'm Professor Miyagi. Today, we're going to talk about the great Edo period poet, Matsuo Basho." At this, Miyagi heard a grumbling in the auditorium. "Now, now, now, now. I'm happy that you love Assistant Professor Kamijou so much and miss him, but he'll only be gone temporarily, and I must ask you to indulge me. If Assistant Professor Kamijou is feeling well enough to return to school tomorrow, you won't have a test on this material." He paused for effect and heard a pseudo-humorous comment from halfway back. He peered up. A tall young man with silvery hair and glasses lounged back in his seat.

"You, sir, come down, I'll need your assistance. Don't be shy, come on, come on!" he encouraged the young man in his most affable tone. The kid made his way down slowly, with a suspicious look on his face. When he reached Miyagi, the professor patted him on the back and said, "Would you please hold this?" He took the collected works of Basho out from under his arms and placed it in the young man's hands. Then he lifted the young man's arms till they were at his chest level. "There, that's just right. Now just a moment. I'll get to you soon!"

And thus Miyagi spent a happy hour discoursing on his favorite subject while having neutralized one of his detractors.

After the class was over and the students sufficiently lulled into a trance by Basho's famous verse, having retrieved his collected works, he hurried back to the office. The silver-haired student stared resentfully after him.

He put Basho back on the bookshelf with loving hands, grabbed his jacket and car keys, and locked up behind him.

"My sweet honey! It is I, your beloved professor Miyagi!" he sang out at the slightly open door of Kamijou's apartment. He rang the doorbell as well, but there was no answer. He pushed the door a little further open and called again. "Hiroki, sweetheart, your honey is heeeere!" On getting no answer he walked in, slipping his shoes off. The place was quiet.

He walked to the back of the apartment. On the right, a door was half open, and he knocked softly. "Assistant Professor Kamijou? Is everything all right?" He entered the room, where the blinds were still drawn. In the bed, face-down in his dress-shirt and trousers, was Hiroki Kamijou.

Miyagi knelt by the low bed and put a hand on Kamijou's back. "Kamijou, are you okay?" The back was warm, but not too warm. He slid the hand up to the back of the young professor's neck; the temperature there seemed normal. The head turned and looked at him.

"Professor Miyagi. What are you doing here?" came a dull voice.

"You didn't show up for your class. I was worried about you. Are you ill?"

"No, Professor, I'm not ill. You can go back to the University." Kamijou turned his face back into the pillow. When Miyagi didn't move from his side, he repeated. "Please go. I'll be fine. I just need a little rest."

"You don't look fine to me, Kamijou. You look like Kobe after the earthquake. Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"There's nothing to tell!" Kamijou had turned his face to speak again. "I just didn't get enough sleep last night."

"And you decided to just sleep in, wearing your teaching clothes, without calling anybody to say you weren't coming in."

"Yes."

"Well, Papa Miyagi isn't buying that, so you just get your face out of that pillow and tell me what's going on. I'm going to wait here all day until you do, so you might as well give up."

Kamijou sighed and sat up cross-legged on the bed, facing his mentor. "Nowaki left me. He spent the night with that kid, the one from my survey class, the amnesia kid, and he came back this morning, packed his bag and left." The face that Kamijou now raised to Miyagi was openly miserable in a way that Miyagi had never seen before. He reached out and pulled Kamijou to his chest, and the younger man crumpled onto him like a rag doll.

"I'm sorry, Kamijou." He patted the young professor on the back. The two stayed that way for an hour, at the end of which Miyagi noticed that he had an erection. No, no, Shinobu will kill me if I do anything, he thought. "Down, boy," he said.

Kamijou lifted his head. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." Miyagi smiled angelically.

"You should go back, Professor. You have classes to teach."

"Yes, I do, but I have something else to do first. Pack your bag, you're coming with me."

"What?"

"You heard me. You can't stay here alone after that man dumped you. You're coming with me; you can stay with me tonight. Shinobu will cook a fabulous dinner, and we can regale him with stories of life at M University. We'll scare the shit out of the brat."

"I can't impose on you—"

"I insist. It's not an imposition. It will be an honor to have you as a guest. I won't hear 'no,' so just come." And Miyagi sat there as Kamijou packed an overnight bag, his face lightened perhaps by just a fraction.

"I'm home!"

"Welcome home," Shinobu replied. The boy was sitting at the kitchen table, books spread out.

"Good lad, studying for the entrance exams! Look who I've brought."

Shinobu looked up and glared fiercely at their guest, until he noticed something different about Kamijou. Usually the man was sizzling with suppressed tension, but now he looked about as energetic as three-week-old cabbage. Shinobu stood and began clearing his books off the table.

"Welcome, Professor Kamijou. I'll get dinner started."

"First help me set out the guest futon," Miyagi said. Shinobu raised his eyebrows at his lover but followed him to the second bedroom. "Kamijou just got dumped by his lover. And he is crazy about the guy."

"That's too bad," replied Shinobu, taking his end of the futon and shaking it. "What does this have to do with me? I'm already keeping my mouth shut about him staying here for a while."

"So cold, Shinobu-chin! Who would have guessed my precious little darling could be sooo cold?" Miyagi shook his end too, and the futon flapped in the air, creating air currents. "How about I just send you home to daddy, and I'll shack up with Hiro-san for a while? Would that suit you better?"

"Hell no! There's no way you get to stay here with him by yourself."

Miyagi laughed in reply to this, eliciting a glare from the boy. "Well, you wanted to be my lover, and Hiroki is my friend, and this is how people take care of their friends. You got it?"

Shinobu looked warily at his adult lover. "Right. So what am I supposed to do?"

"Number one, be nice to him." They managed to get the futon laid out neatly on the floor, and Miyagi went into a closet to get out blankets. Returning, he said, "You know what I think he needs to take his mind off of being dumped?"

"N...no, what?"

"Come on, think about it. What works for every guy? A blow job, of course."

"Like hell you're giving it to him!" Miyagi saw the punch coming and grabbed Shinobu's arm, throwing him onto the futon. He dropped down on top of the boy, pinning his arms and putting his face in Shinobu's.

"Fine," he grinned, "If you don't want me to, then you do it."

"Me? ME? Aren't you afraid Professor Kamijou will throw a book at me?"

"Who ever threw a book at a guy giving him a blow job? That is never gonna happen in this world." Miyagi got up and pulled Shinobu off the futon, and then began unfolding the blankets. "So you're only worried about getting hit by a book? You don't have any reservations about going down on Kamijou?"

Shinobu began to blush. "Er..um…well, he is kind of cute, you know!"

"Shinobu! You slut!"

Shinobu glared again. "What? You asked! Geezer!"

Miyagi laughed again. "Just don't get any ideas about doing it to him while I'm not around. This is strictly threesome stuff. It's about hospitality and comfort, not about you going off on your own living it up." Miyagi straightened out some wrinkles in the top blanket. "Because, you know, Shinobu-chin, I don't really want you doing it with anyone else. Just as a favor for a heartbroken idiot."

"Fine. But you can't fuck him, either."

Miyagi leaned over and stroked Shinobu's cheek. "You really have no idea, do you? I have no intention of doing anything to him."

Dinner was grilled marinated salmon, plain rice, and salad, with pickled vegetables on the side. Kamijou had to try hard to finish his. He wasn't hungry, but he used the food to distract his mind from the great, aching hole in his heart where Nowaki had once lived. Not meaning to, at one point he raised his eyes and met Shinobu's. The boy looked at him with pity, and Kamijou flinched. He stood and made to carry his plate to the sink.

"Shinobu will do that, Kamijou. You don't have to."

"It's no trouble. I'd rather do it," Kamijou said, not turning around. He put his plate and chopsticks into the sink and started running hot water, adding detergent. He let the hot water run over his hands, letting the heat fill his mind so he didn't have to think about Nowaki. Nowaki. The tears came. He hunched over the sink. Don't be sad, be angry, you fool! But Nowaki! He tried to recover his composure, but here was Shinobu, carrying his and Miyagi's plates. He felt the boy peering at him, then he heard the plates being set down and felt a hand on his back. Horribly, humiliatingly, he found himself crumbling into Shinobu's arms, unable to stop the tears.

Shinobu threw a meaningful look over Kamijou's shoulder at Miyagi, who was having an after-dinner cigarette. He stood and came over to help the assistant professor to his bed.

"Shinobu, let him down gently, there! Don't just drop him!"

"Oh, shut up. I can sit down myself," snapped the distraught Kamijou.

"So you're conscious. I thought you were catatonic there for a minute."

"Don't make fun of a heartbroken man."

"I'm not making fun of you," Miyagi said, through a cigarette he held between his teeth. He loosened and undid Kamijou's tie and handed it to Shinobu, who hung it on a hanger in the closet. Miyagi began undoing the buttons on Kamijou's shirt. "Let's just get you to bed. Everything will look better in the morning."

"That's an idiotic thing to say, even more idiotic than usual for you."

The professor grimaced, and the cigarette tilted up jauntily, making him look sinister. "That's fine, I'm an idiot. You can say whatever you want to me tonight." He'd finished unbuttoning the shirt and began to undo the buttons on one sleeve.

"And stop treating me like a child; I can undress myself."

"Let Papa Miyagi do this for you. Indulge an old man." He fumbled with the cuff. "You do this, Shinobu, my fingers are too big for this tiny button."

Kamijou began to protest, but Shinobu's fingers were nimble, and he soon had the cuff open. His fingers were cool on Kamijou's wrist. "Other hand," the boy said tersely, and without waiting, reached for Kamijou's other wrist.

Again, the two pairs of eyes met, and this time, Kamijou didn't see pity. This time, it was a fixed and level gaze. The boy hurriedly undid the cuff and pushed Kamijou's arm back at him. "There," he said. But in doing so, he managed to brush Kamijou's bare chest with his hand, which sprang back automatically. "Sorry!" Kamijou felt the ghost of the touch burning his skin.

Kamijou caught the hand before it could get away, and making eye contact with the boy, he placed the hand back on his chest. "I'm not a virgin, you know," he said. Shinobu's mouth fell open, and a blush rose on his face. Slowly, the hand stroked Kamijou's chest. Kamijou didn't know what to expect, but he was surprised when Shinobu shifted closer to him, placing a hand on Kamijou's thigh to steady himself. Kamijou took advantage of the boy's momentary instability to pull him close and kiss him.

Shinobu's mouth yielded easily to his, opening slightly to allow Kamijou's tongue to explore. One hand rubbed Kamijou's chest slowly, and the other came up behind his neck and pressed him more tightly into the kiss. This aroused Kamijou, who kissed even more deeply and passionately, repeatedly sucking and lapping at the boy's mouth. A high squeak issued from that mouth.

Kamijou felt a tug on his sleeve, and a large hand took hold of his arm as it pulled the sleeve off it. Kamijou turned lust-blurred eyes to see Miyagi attempting to remove his shirt. He let go of Shinobu and let Miyagi undress him, then immediately scooped Shinobu up again, thrusting his crotch against the boy as they kissed.

He felt Miyagi's soft mouth on his neck, kissing and sucking, and his hands sneaked in under Kamijou's arms to tweak his nipples. Kamijou let Shinobu's lips go and groaned in surprise. "That's it," whispered Miyagi in his ear. "That's a good boy. Let Papa take care of you."

Kamijou let his head fall back on Miyagi's shoulder, and with eyes closed, he sensed Miyagi and Shinobu kissing. He turned his head to the side and kissed Miyagi's cheek. The stubble felt erotic; or was it just the smell and sound of the two men kissing that was turning him on? The kiss ended, and Miyagi continued playing with his nipples, while he felt a tug at his belt. He opened his eyes to see Shinobu undoing his fly. He lifted his hips, leaning against Miyagi, and allowed Shinobu to pull his trousers off. Sitting there in his underwear, his erection distorting their shape, he felt vulnerable and foolish, but Miyagi's hand dropped down to his crotch and caressed the lump there. "You're wet already," he grumbled in his deep tones.

Shinobu returned from hanging his pants in the closet and placed hands on his hips, looking at him for permission to remove his underwear. Kamijou gazed at him through his lashes and lifted his hips again. His cock popped out as it cleared the waistband, and Miyagi laughed, making him cringe. He buried his face in Miyagi's neck, which smelled of sweat and aftershave and moaned a little.

He felt Shinobu spreading his legs, and he looked down to see Shinobu lie down on his belly and take his cock in his mouth. His mouth was hot and wet, and Kamijou couldn't stop himself from thrusting into it. He put a hand on the boy's head and stroked his hair.

"Shinobu loves sucking cock, don't you Shinobu-chin?" said Miyagi. Shinobu lifted his eyes and glared at Miyagi, as if to say, "Shut up, old man, can't you see I'm busy?" Miyagi just laughed and turned Kamijou's head toward him so he could kiss him while he now began to gently twist his nipples.

Shinobu was emitting little moaning sounds as he slid up and down Kamijou's cock, which only aroused the assistant professor more. He conveyed his arousal through his kisses, eagerly sipping and licking at Miyagi's mouth. "All this time I've been flirting with you, Kamijou, and I finally get to find out how you taste," growled the older man into his mouth. "You're delicious."

Just then, Shinobu slipped a warm hand under Kamijou's balls and squeezed them ever so slightly. He squeezed and tugged and continued sucking, and soon Kamijou was overwhelmed. The excitement began to rise from his balls and up his cock, until he spoke in a throaty whisper, tugging on Shinobu's hair to alert him: "I'm coming. For God's sake, pull off!" But Shinobu continued to suck and tug and rub, and Kamijou shot it all into his mouth. Kamijou shouted incoherently, and Miyagi sucked on his neck. Shinobu continued to suck his cock gently until he was completely spent.

He leaned back into Miyagi's arms, feeling ashamed.

"Shinobu, get a wet towel and a dry one and clean our guest off, please." Kamijou don't open his eyes, but heard the boy scamper off, imagining his cock bouncing happily.

"Oh, God," he said, and a tear leaked out. Miyagi covered his eyes with a large, warm hand.

"None of that. We're going to clean you up, and you're going to go to sleep, and not think about anything. In the morning, I'll cover your classes, and Shinobu will go off to school, and you just stay here and rest and read."

"But, Professor, I—"

"No, no, no, my sweet honey. I said none of that. You're going to let Shinobu and me take care of you. You get one day off and then back to work, because work is good for the heartbroken. Just for tomorrow, be lazy and relax, and let us take care of you." Miyagi kissed his temple, and Shinobu came back, sitting once more between Kamijou's legs and wiping down his whole body first with a warm, wet towel, and then with a dry one.

Then Miyagi helped him to lie down and covered him with a comforter. Shinobu went off to do his homework, and Miyagi turned out the light. "Good night, Kamijou. Everything is going to be all right."


	12. Past Lives

Chapter 12

Past Lives

Noboru was beat. The pastry professor had yelled at him this afternoon, and he'd cut himself in veggie class. He looked morosely at his bandaged finger as he swayed on the subway car. He heard a plaintive voice behind him as his knife satchel poked another passenger, and he put his hand down swiftly, apologizing over his shoulder.

More than the tiring life of a Culinary Academy student, Noboru's dreams weighed on him. Their sensations and sounds seemed to carry a message to him: he felt sure they hid memories. He wished he could make something out of them, but instead their heavy atmosphere dogged his days and wore on him.

He was pretty sure he had a male lover. In last night's dream, the sense of being touched had been so real. He'd felt the man's hands on his skin, he'd heard his voice, felt his breath on his cheek. "Manami," the man had called him. That bothered him more than anything. It felt almost right, but not quite.

His head ached. He wished he could rub it, but he didn't dare lift his hand again.

He made his way slowly to his apartment and took the steps one by one, only to find something blocking his way.

"Dr. Kusama! What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you!" The doctor smiled up at him, but Noboru only closed his eyes briefly and then nudged Nowaki with his foot.

"Well, please stand up, so I can get to my door, Doctor."

"I'll take that." As he stood, Nowaki tried to take the knife satchel off the younger man's shoulder, but Noboru waved him off, advancing to his front door and opening it. He allowed Nowaki to go in first, gestured for him to sit on the bed, and began his ritual of changing his clothes, his back turned to his guest.

When he was down to his underwear, he felt Nowaki's arms around him. He stiffened. "Doctor, I'm really, really tired, and I have to get my uniform into the laundry, or I won't have anything to wear tomorrow."

"Mmmm, naked cooking school student! That would be something to see." Rather than letting Noboru go, Nowaki crept his hands up Noboru's chest and delicately thumbed his nipples. At the same time, he mouthed Noboru's smooth cheek.

"Doctor! Stop it!" Noboru's tone was irritated.

Nowaki's hand abandoned the right nipple and moved down to squeeze his crotch. Noboru stifled a groan, but it didn't matter. His response was obvious. "You say 'stop,' but this part of you says 'Go!'"

With a final burst of resolve, Noboru pulled Nowaki's arms apart and grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt from the closet, pulled them on, grabbed his uniform from the floor, and slammed out of the apartment. When he returned, Nowaki was sautéing vegetables.

"Ah, Doctor, you don't have to do that!"

"You said you were tired. Why don't you lie down and rest? I'll just fix something really fast, and then we can talk."

Instead of lying down, Noboru sat on the bed with his back against the wall and watched Nowaki cook. He had a very peaceful and contained way of moving as he went from task to task, and Noboru, despite his initial irritation at finding the man on his doorstep, found himself soothed. "Thank you for doing this," he finally said.

Nowaki smiled at him. "It's my pleasure." After a few minutes, he invited Noboru to sit at the tiny table. Nowaki, with his tall frame, looked cramped in the corner, but the food was good. It had been a long while since Noboru had eaten someone else's home cooking. "You're hungry," Nowaki laughed, watching him shovel rice in his mouth.

"It's really good!" Noboru smiled around a mouthful. He ate until he was full. He looked at Nowaki and his stomach lurched. It couldn't be helped. They really had to talk. "Look, Doctor, I don't know—"

"I've left Hiro-san." There was a strange, excited air about Nowaki as he spoke.

"What?" Noboru sat back in his seat.

"I left Hiro-san this morning. I packed my bags, and I left him. That's why I'm here tonight."

"But why? Why did you do that?" There was a note of panic in Noboru's voice, because he guessed why.

Nowaki's eyes lifted to his. "Noboru, I love you." He reached over and took Noboru's hand, which was slightly sticky from picking up stray grains of rice. He lifted it to his face and kissed the palm. "I want to live with you and keep you company. I want to protect you and give you everything."

Noboru snatched his hand back, but not because the kiss hadn't felt good. That was the problem. His body seemed to rise to Nowaki's bait: he wanted him, and he was touched by his words. But another part of him objected, cried out strongly against this connection. "Doctor, no. I mean, I'm really grateful to you for the care you've given me, and I really, really like you a lot. But I don't need to be protected."

"You don't have to pretend with me. I know how tough it is to be on your own. Growing up in the orphanage, I was bullied by the older children. There were many times when I wished I had someone to take my side. I want to be that person for you."

Noboru stared at Nowaki for a second. "But I'm not a kid. I don't need to be protected, honest! I'm fine! I mean, I know I can't remember anything about my former life, and that kind of puts me at a disadvantage, but I'm still basically in one piece, and I'm learning a trade, and I'll be fine!"

"You can be fine by my side. You care for me, don't you?"

"Yes, but no, that's not the point!" Noboru voice had gradually risen. He stopped and tried to calm down. _Just explain it, word by word,_ he said to himself. "Even though I can't remember it, I think there are people out there waiting for me. I feel it, I feel them. And…and it would be wrong to start something with you when I don't know what's happened to them."

He seemed to be making his point, because Nowaki's face registered something.

"I mean, I know something has already started between us, and it's awkward and hard, but at the same time, I seem to be having these feelings and things that tell me about these other people. It's hard to explain, but you're going to have to trust me on this." He paused for a minute. "And…and besides, Doctor." He wanted so much to take Nowaki's hand to soften the blow, but he was afraid of how that would seem, so he kept his hands to himself. "This thing about wanting to protect me, this love you have for me. That's not about me. I'm not looking for protection. Doctor, you can't make up for your years in the orphanage by protecting me. That's something you have to work out inside yourself."

Nowaki seemed momentarily stunned. But he began again: "It's not safe for someone like you to be alone. You probably don't realize what kind of people are out there, how they'll take advantage of you, they'll hurt you. It's not easy being alone! Don't deny yourself out of a sense of obligation to someone you don't even remember!"

"This is what I'm saying, Doctor. I'm doing fine. I'm doing what I need to. You seem to think I need you to take care of me, but I don't. What I need is to learn to take care of myself and to get going in this new life until things start coming back to me for real. Because I know they will. I know it."

"What if they don't?" Nowaki was grasping at straws, he knew. Noboru was rejecting him, but he couldn't quite accept it.

"If they don't, then I'll decide what to do. Then I'll really have a new life. But I'm not giving up on the old life yet."

"Even though you don't have any idea what that life was like?"

"I have some idea. I don't think it was a bad life. I have a pretty strong feeling that it was a good one."

"Noboru, I—"

"Doctor, go back to Professor Kamijou. Please. I don't want to see you unhappy. I like you. You're a good man."

Nowaki sat there in dismay. He rose from his seat. Noboru stood, also. There was an awkward moment, and then Noboru held out a hand. Nowaki took it.

"Please go home. I'll call you, okay?"

"Noboru."

"Be careful on your way home."

Noboru shut the door behind his friend and waited for five minutes before heading down to the laundry room again. On the way down the stairs, a chill wind seemed to sweep over him, and he heard a voice inside his head. "Misaki," it said.

Not Manami, but Misaki.

kokiden here again. I just wanted to say that the title, "The Man Without a Name," was meant to apply to Misaki/Noboru, but to Nowaki too. The reason why it applies to Misaki is obvious; but Nowaki doesn't have a real name either. He was given the name of the town he was born in and the name of the weather that was happening at the time, so the name he has doesn't connect him to any family or history, as a name usually does.

My original intent was to place a stronger emphasis on the parallels between Misaki/Noboru and Nowaki. Rereading this chapter, I see I did do that a little, so I'm relieved. But I think we either bit off more than we could chew in terms of portraying all of the emotions and activities going on between the four main characters and three or so minor characters that we had to sacrifice weaving in some of the thematic material (or we forgot!).

Thanks for reading this.


	13. The Cooking School Student

Chapter 13

The Cooking School Student

The doorbell rang, and the door, when opened, revealed Aikawa.

"Good morning, senseiiii," she sang, "Today is the day!"

Akihiko smiled faintly at her greeting; his heart was beating faster. Now that the day had come, he was nearly out of his mind with nervousness and excitement. He had been ready for two hours. Suzuki-san was probably very happy to see him go, because he had been variously hugged, wrestled with, and swung about the apartment, as his master had tried to distract himself from the nervous anticipation.

"Don't worry; you look lovely!" Aikawa said happily, taking his arm and guiding him down the steps to the waiting taxi.

It was mid-morning, and it didn't take long before the taxi deposited them in front of the culinary academy. As Akihiko got out of the cab and then held the door for Aikawa, he noticed his palms were sweaty, and his heart was racing. It had been so long.

"The old ha—the director wouldn't give me Misaki's schedule, so we'll just have to hunt around, I'm afraid, sensei. Let me see, this looks like a classroom here—" Aikawa opened a nearby door, to reveal a classroom full of students hacking away at meat, their aprons stained with blood. After recoiling briefly, Aikawa and Akihiko scanned the class but didn't find Misaki. Just as the master chef raised his cleaver high, she let the door close again. "Not that one. We'll keep looking!" she said cheerily.

The next door had a class on appetizers, which the teacher called "amuse-gueule," and further on they found a rather dreary class about the care of pots. Misaki wasn't in either of those. In the next room, there was a demonstration vegetable dissection, or at least that's what Akihiko took it to be. The master chef made intricate and precise cuts with his knife on a radish. It reminded him of how Misaki used to…oh…he cast his eyes over the rapt faces of the students, and there…in the front row…his heart leapt as if it were headed straight for the beautiful sight before him.

There was Misaki, dressed in the white coat and white cap of a culinary school student, staring transfixed at his teacher's hands. Akihiko heard a sound come out of his throat, and at the same time he felt Aikawa's gentle but restraining hand on his arm. The face, his face, Misaki's face! He could almost feel him in his arms right now, but he was so excited, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to contain himself. Just in time, Aikawa led him to the seats placed at the back of the room for the public.

Now he could only see the back of Misaki's head and his slender shoulders. He resigned himself to watching the demonstration and the other members of the class to pass the time, but his eyes always returned to Misaki. Soon the students were called upon to practice what they'd seen, and they moved to their own tables to chop and cut a pile of vegetables. Akihiko watched Misaki greedily as he approached a table, greeting the other students in a friendly manner. Misaki watched patiently as another student tried his hand, and then took his turn with a minimum of hesitation. He grabbed a daikon, and Akihiko had to smile. That was the vegetable that Misaki had had the most practice on, as daikon was a staple of their regular diet. He watched with pride as Misaki demonstrated his skill on the long, crisp radish, his long, thin fingers holding the vegetable in place as he wielded the knife with a practiced air. He could even be seen to be chatting and joking with the other students as he worked, no doubt to put them at ease, seeing his greater level of skill.

While watching, Akihiko became aware of a new feeling, something he didn't recall ever having experienced before with regard to his lover. He became aware of Misaki as a separate person, a competent, independent human being who functioned well in his own world. Whereas Akihiko had been intensely seeking to reunite with Misaki, as far as to make himself ill, Misaki had gone on living in this world, making his own way, and even learning new things to make himself more solid, more real, more accomplished. It was as if two completely contradictory forces existed side by side, battling with each other, but each managing to survive somehow in balance. To be so focused, so intent on someone, but to acknowledge his separateness at the same time, was a startling revelation to him. It seemed obvious, but somehow it wasn't. It had the flavor of epiphany.

The most extraordinary thing was that, knowing himself, he'd have guessed that seeing Misaki function so perfectly without him would have sent him into a possessive panic, but instead, it had the opposite effect. Akihiko felt calm, grounded; he experienced a pure exhilaration at watching Misaki become more completely himself.

As he watched Misaki demonstrate a knife angle to another student, he reflected that it was almost like watching a fictional character being created. But no, that was raising fiction above the level of life, and though he had once thought fiction much finer than life, he could make that mistake no longer. This experience was like viewing a human character in its purest form; because Misaki was clearly still Misaki, but he didn't know it. His heart was filled with both tenderness and terror as he realized the truth of this, and its corollary: that Misaki had no idea of who Akihiko was and even less idea why he should be connected to him. Akihiko felt as if his whole soul was hollowed out at the thought that Misaki's love for him, as elusive as it had always been, might be gone, raped of him by whatever had caused the amnesia.

While Misaki's lover watched and trembled, the man who had named himself Noboru grew more relaxed as he worked together with the other students. One young man asked to see how he had cut his daikon, and he picked up the fresh daikon on the table to demonstrate, clowning a little as he did so. This felt good; it was great to have something to do other than worry about who he was and who was waiting for him behind the black wall of his own memory. He pointed the radish at each of the students as he explained his technique, affecting a French accent. The other students laughed.

He set the root down again and watched his colleague tentatively make the necessary cuts. His eyes began to wander around the classroom, looking to see how other groups were faring. There was a wide range of experience and skill in this classroom, and Noboru marveled at how they were all going to graduate in nine months with the same knowledge and techniques. His eyes floated over to a small group of people in the public seats. He'd been told in passing that the public were allowed to visit classes on Fridays as a way of creating interest in the Academy. He'd worried at first that this would make him self-conscious, but so far, it hadn't been a problem. It was amazing how having a task to perform could completely focus the mind.

His eyes lighted on a handsome, well-dressed couple sitting toward the back of the room. The man, arms crossed in front of his chest, and slumped in his seat, looked lost in thought, tense, and brooding. What was that person doing here? He didn't appear to be interested at all. He must be here to humor his wife, who was sitting next to him. She was bright-eyed and attentive, sitting up straight with her feet pressed firmly on the ground and her purse set neatly on her lap. Probably a bored housewife looking to keep her husband at home with deliciously prepared dinners! Noboru pleased himself with his astute character-reading skills.

The master chef was clapping, requiring their attention. Noboru turned back to the island at the front of the room and was once more caught up in today's lesson.

After the lesson was over, and he was putting his knives away, Noboru sensed someone at his elbow and looked up. It was the bored aristocrat from earlier. Noboru looked away again, assuming he wanted to speak to the master chef about his classes, when he felt a finger on his sleeve.

"Excuse me, young man." Noboru turned and for the first time got a really good look at the two he had noticed earlier.

It was the man from the dream.

He was sure of it. Sweat broke out all down his back.

The woman bowed to him and held out a business card. "Please forgive me. I'm Eri Aikawa of Kadokawa Publishing! This is the great Akihiko Usami-sensei, the winner of the Naomori and Kikukawa awards for literature!"

Akihiko Usami-sensei? Noboru stared at the tall, silver-haired man with the narrow, shining eyes, and it was as if his consciousness split. Half of him went on believing that he was meeting this man for the first time, but the other half ran on ahead, leaping to the conclusion that this man was someone to him. Someone who had the right to lie on top of him and touch his—. His heart started pumping fast and hard.

"Usami-sensei is about to write a novel based on a student chef, and we were watching you with great interest during the class, and we both thought you would make a great model for his main character."

What was she telling him? Was this the truth? If he had never met the man before, it was the truth. But if what his heart was telling him was true, there was something else going on. What should he do? What could he do?

"I was wondering whether you would be willing to meet with Usami-sensei to tell him about the life of a Culinary Academy student, maybe tell a few, I don't know, cooking stories and whatnot. What do you say? We would be happy to pay you an honorarium for your time."

"But I'm just starting out here. You'd probably do better with someone who has some experience—" If she accepted him at his word and looked for someone else, then the dream was a lie. If she insisted on meeting with him, then-

"Oh, no, no, you're just what we're looking for! Fresh and new, fresh and new!" sang Aikawa; at the same time, she was thinking, damn this boy and his honesty. He really is the same kid, isn't he?

Noboru's mind reeled. He saw lights flashing over the heads of the couple, one of with said "TRUTH!" the other of which said "LIE!"

"So can we arrange a time? Or if you need to consult your schedule, you could just give us your phone number." She handed him another card, and he'd written his number on it and handed it back to her, when he saw the academy's director walking toward them, a grim look on her face. Mrs. Aikawa must have seen her too, and she quickly said good-bye and began to tow Usami-sensei behind her. Usami-sensei, however, turned to look over his shoulder as he was pulled along, and his narrow shining eyes burned a hole into Noboru's heart.

TRUTH TRUTH TRUTH TRUTH TRUTH. 


	14. Reach out and Touch

Chapter 14

Reach out and Touch

Nowaki rang the bell and waited five minutes for an answer before letting himself in. He called out as he entered, "I'm home!" He could tell right away that the place was empty, both from the way the sound echoed back to him, but also from the stale smell of the air. No one had been here for several days.

He set his bags down in the living room, not quite certain whether he should unpack. He crept into the bedroom. The bed was unmade, but that told him nothing, only that Hiro-san was the last one to sleep in it, and he already knew that. He knelt on the floor and made it up neatly. He went out to the living room to get his bag and stopped in the kitchen for a glass of water. He spotted a note stuck to the fridge. It was addressed to him.

"Nowaki—  
>In case you come back, I'm staying with Miyagi until further notice. Go ahead and stay in the apartment if you want. Kamijou."<p>

Nowaki closed his eyes and crumpled the note. He could feel the sharp edges on his palm. Hiro-san had anticipated what he had not: that he would be rejected by Noboru. How? He had not seen it coming. He'd been blinded by his own desire, his own fierce motivating fire. To save Noboru. But Noboru had said it: he'd only wanted to save himself.

So here he was. Completely alone, in worse condition than for many years. No lover, no one to come home to, no one to care for. He was so empty, he couldn't even miss Hiro-san yet. He could only look inward at the vast emptiness of himself.

He grabbed his bag, took it to the bedroom, and unpacked his things. He'd nap for a few hours until it was time for his shift.

******  
>"Aaaah, your shoulders are so tight, let me—"<p>

"Get your hands off me, pervert!" Kamijou grasped both of Professor Miyagi's hands and pulled them off his shoulders, flinging them backward as hard as he could without causing himself to fall out of his chair. "Just because I'm accepting your hospitality doesn't mean you have permission to put your hands all over me at work! I'm a professor, not a sex toy!"

"Assiiistant Professor!" Miyagi corrected, dancing off to his own desk. He knew how far he could take things with Kamijou. Oh yes, he did. Quite a bit farther than he'd ever imagined. He laughed inwardly, as he sat at his computer and began an e-mail to Shinobu, who was probably at the library now, preparing for the college entrance exam.

_Dearest Shinobu-chin,___

_Our little professor is safely ensconced in his favorite chair, having been sweetly welcomed by his stern and demanding mentor._

"Kamijou, does sukiyaki sound good for dinner tonight?" he called over his shoulder.

"Whatever!" was the answer.

Miyagi continued typing:

_Study hard today.__  
><em>_Kamijou fancies sukiyaki for dinner.___

_Love, Miyagi_.

He chuckled to himself, causing the hairs on the back of Kamijou's neck to stand on end, which would have delighted him, if he had only known.

******

Akihiko had taken a seat, because his legs were shaking. Sweat was beginning to soak into his collar. Panicked eyes stared down at the instrument, dreading what had to come next. He lifted his hand, and then let it drop lifeless into his lap. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.

"Oh, come on, sensei, don't be such a baby! Pick up the phone and call him!" Aikawa's sharp voice fractured any sense of calm he had established and made him jump slightly. She picked up the phone and dialed the number, shoving the receiver into his face.

The phone rang on the other end. "H-hello? Is that Manami? How are you? It's been so long. How is everything? How is T-takahiro?" Akihiko listened for a while, then said, "Yes, if you would be so good." There was a brief pause, and Takahiro picked up the line.

"Takahiro, it's Akihiko. How are you?"

"Akihiko. What can I do for you." The chill in Takahiro's voice seemed to seep out of the earpiece into Akihiko's ear, making him shudder.

"I've found Misaki. He's fine."

"What? What? Where is he?" The rush of sound was overwhelming, and Akihiko held the receiver away from him for a second.

"I don't know where he's living, but he's attending the Culinary Academy, and they allow the public in to observe the classes every Friday. I've just been there, and it's him. So go there and see for yourself."

"What? Didn't you talk to him? Why didn't you get his phone number and address?"

"Takahiro, you don't understand. He doesn't remember me. He might not remember you, either. It's not a situation where you can just charge in and make things go the way you want them to."

"That's a laugh, coming from you."

Akihiko gasped and then took a moment to collect himself. "Yes, well, I suppose I deserved that, but nonetheless, I think you should take it easy with him."

"Just like you did?" Takahiro retorted.

Again, Akihiko paused. It was a brother's right to be angry, he guessed. "I'm doing my best. You do your best, too." He set the receiver down and looked up at Aikawa and let her stroke his head.

"You did it, sensei."

"Yes," he replied, "I guess I did."

Just then, Aikawa's cell phone rang. "I don't have to get that," she said, still stroking the author's head.

"Pick it up." He pulled away from her and stood up, headed for his room. To hide.

"Yes?" she said, pushing the "Talk" button. "Ohhh, Mr. Nakamura, how nice to hear from you!" She waved frantically at Akihiko, unnecessarily, for the latter had stopped dead in his tracks the instant that name had issued from her lips. "When can we arrange a meeting? How about if we meet you for dinner? There's a nice little café over near your school, Chez les Asperges. Why don't you meet us there tonight at 8:00? You'll need a jacket and tie, do you have those? No? Well, I have a spare; I'll bring you one. Sound good? See you then!"

She turned a face that was positively glowing to her client. "It's decided, sensei." She walked over to him and closed his two large, cold hands in hers. "Are you ready?"

There was no answer. 

Kokiden here. I originally called this chapter "Forms of Communication," but as I recall it was one of the less popular chapters in the past, probably because of its dull title. I've noticed that "The Lawnmower" isn't getting as many views either, so I'm noticing that titles are important. But I don't want to change the title of that one. I think it's a hysterical image of Aikawa, even though it's probably way too American-suburban to be an appropriate metaphor for a story with a Japanese setting.

I noticed in my old notes that I was emphasizing that I do not hate Aikawa. I seem to remember taking hits for hating Hiroki and Nowaki as well. So let me say once more emphatically that I ADORE Aikawa. She and Miyagi are my favorite minor characters. I find them both funny and charming, and I love writing them. They both inspire me (to be evil).

Hiroki is another question. I don't hate him (I think it's only other Junjo fans' rabid love of Hiroki that made them think so), but I don't understand him either. I never could understand what was cute and lovable about someone who couldn't be honest about their own feelings, and I felt truly sorry for Nowaki for having to put up with his immature attitude.

I do like Hiroki as comic relief. I love him throwing erasers at students and looking ridiculous with his hair slicked back. So maybe I should have used him in this story that way; I could have loved him more. But that's all in the past! I see so many mistakes about how I approached this story, and at this distance, realizing the mistakes doesn't make me cringe. It just makes me realize what a complex, mysterious, and challenging process writing is. It also makes me a believer in multiple rewrites.


	15. To Meet Again

Chapter 15

To Meet Again

It took Noboru a while to find the place. It was actually set back from the street in an older building, and he had missed it the first couple of times he had walked by. The third time, he saw Aikawa waving at him, and he made an abrupt turn toward her, almost tripping over his feet. By then, he realized he was nervous, very nervous. Aikawa showed him a complete suit wrapped in plastic, and she hustled him into the restaurant and led him to the men's room before the elegantly suited maitre d'hotel could pounce on them.

Ms. Aikawa was really a very attractive woman. He would have enjoyed the way she touched his arm, if he hadn't been so nervous about the fancy restaurant and the suit and the mysterious author who seemed to be someone very important from his past. Noboru wondered if he truly was gay if he could find Aikawa attractive. Wasn't it a really strange thing, come to think of it, to define who you were by who you were attracted to? Or to label yourself as "gay" or "straight?" He thought you should probably just like whoever you liked and not worry about the labels.

He thought all this while stripping out of his street clothes and wrestling the suit out of its plastic covering. It was a lucky thing this was an extra-fancy toilet stall in an extra-fancy restaurant; otherwise, he might not have been able to get the suit on without dipping part of it in the toilet.

Finally he had it all on. He checked himself in the mirror—a beautiful gilded-frame, full-length job—he had botched the tie, but he didn't have any hope of making it better. He emerged to find Aikawa waiting for him.

"Oh, Mr. Nakamura, you look so handsome," she trilled, making Noboru blush.

"It's a perfect fit!" he said by way of thanks.

"But your tie is crooked, let me fix it." Her beautifully-manicured hands came up to reknot his tie. Something stirred in Noboru's mind; the scene was tantalizingly familiar, but he was unable to put it into any context, except for a feeling…what was it? Jealousy? No, that didn't make sense at all.

He followed Aikawa into the dining room. At least the décor wasn't sumptuous in the way that you'd expect of a French restaurant. It was understated, with lots of plain wood surfaces. Noboru found the fact that the tablecloths weren't white reassuring. Instead, they were sort of a stained-glass pattern that he thought was beautiful.

He spotted Akihiko Usami sitting at a table and came to a stop. He didn't know the man's normal expression, but right now he looked as if he was on edge. He was smoking, and he had a sullen expression on his face that made Noboru's stomach fall. But suddenly the narrow eyes lit on Noboru, and everything changed. Instead of sullen, he looked panicked. He quickly stubbed out the cigarette and shifted in his seat, as if he had been about to get up but changed his mind.

Noboru felt a tug on his arm and became conscious that he was standing in the middle of the busy restaurant. There was a waiter in front of him with a laden tray, looking as if he wished Noboru would move.

"Oh, pardon me!" Noboru said, and stepped suddenly to one side to allow the young man by. Unfortunately, the waiter had begun to move in the same direction, and Noboru's sudden movement caused a collision. He watched in horror as the tray tilted, and three bowls of soup slid floorward. Aikawa jerked him out of the way, but the waiter was obviously very talented, because he managed to right the tray again without the bowls falling to the floor. "SORRY!" Noboru said, too loudly.

Aikawa continued to pull him toward the table where Usami sat. "Look, Mr. Nakamura is here!" she said, unnecessarily, but still, it was good to have someone to smooth over these awkward moments, Noboru thought, as he noticed that neither he nor Usami seemed able to speak.

"Th-thank you for inviting me!" he said suddenly, making a small and stiff bow toward the seated man, who again moved to stand and then didn't. Noboru stood there, waiting for something to happen.

"Ah, sit down, Mr. Nakamura! Please make yourself comfortable!" Aikawa said cheerily. Noboru tried to pull his chair out in a smooth motion, but the legs humped along, catching on the plush carpeting. As he sat, he could feel sweat around his neck, in his armpits, and behind his knees. There was something horribly gut-wrenching about meeting someone who you were supposed to know for the first, no, second time. To know that there was a world of feelings shared with this person, but he had no access to it, or only irregular access that was mysterious at best. He looked at Aikawa with pleading eyes. "Well! Usami-sensei and I have been looking forward to this very much, haven't we, sensei?"

"Yes." Noboru stared attentively at the author, who seemed to be having trouble speaking. "I'm writing a novel," he went on, finally. The look of panic in his eyes remained as he seemed to search blindly for words. "It's about a cooking school student." Another prolonged pause.

"That's why we wanted to interview you," finished Aikawa smoothly. Noboru thought he saw impatience flash in the face that was turned toward the author. "But first, we should order our food, don't you think?"

"Oh, well, I hope you don't mind," Usami-sensei responded, seeming to have regained a little of his confidence. "I've ordered for us. I thought it would make the interview go more smoothly. You don't mind?" He turned to Noboru.

"Oh, no, no! I'd actually prefer it that way. I wouldn't know what to order in a place like this. I've never been in a French restaurant before." Noboru thought he might have said something gauche, because there was a shocked expression on the great author's face. "Not that I haven't wanted to! I just…well… I just couldn't afford it!"

Usami-sensei seemed to be satisfied with that answer, because his expression returned to a neutral, businesslike one.

"It's kind of funny, I guess, being a Culinary Academy student and never having eaten French food," Noboru went on. "I mean, that's basically what I'm being trained to cook. Not exclusively, of course, we'll learn how to cook Japanese food too, and American food, and ethnic foods as well, but there really is an emphasis on haute cuisine at the Academy." He smiled. "It's not that I'm not interested in this kind of cooking. It's actually really fascinating. The history of French cooking goes back for centuries and has been practiced and tested by expert chefs in France and around the world, you know." Noboru looked at his audience. They probably didn't want him to regurgitate the history of French food that he'd learned in his History of Food class. "Yeah, that's part of the stuff we cooking students have to learn, just to give you a little sample. Er, is there something in particular you wanted to know, Usami-sensei?"

Usami-sensei leaned his chin on one hand and seemed to study Noboru. "No one particular thing," he replied. "I just want to know what your life is like." There was something so sincere about his words and about the look he gave Noboru that the young man was taken aback for a moment. He mustn't forget that this man might have more than a casual interest in him. It was hard to have this conversation knowing that there was more to it than he was allowed to admit. He decided it was best for now to keep up the ruse of a fact-finding interview: what choice did he have, after all?

He launched into a day-to-day rundown of his cooking school activities: classes, friends, professors, mistakes. He ended up spending a lot of time on the master pastry chef. "Oh, yes, my first Napoleon was a disaster!" he said, excitedly. "You know, a Napoleon is a French pastry that has layers of puff pastry, fruit, and either custard or whipped cream." Aikawa hummed appreciatively. "Well, I actually got the hard part right: my pastry was fine! But when I went to assemble the Napoleon that was the final project for that class, I got distracted, and I had my hand on it when I was trying to explain the assembly process to another student, and someone walked by and bumped me, and my hand went," he gestured, pushing his hand down toward the table. "Um, it was kind of flat after that." Aikawa and Usami-sensei laughed.

"Did it taste good, though?" Aikawa asked.

"Ah, he wouldn't allow me to eat it. He said it was a disgrace, and he flicked a wire whip with whipped cream on it at me, and I got it all over my face and uniform." Noboru gave an embarrassed grin to his table mates, who were still laughing at his failure, when he heard a buzzing sound.

"Oh! That's mine!" cried Aikawa, pulling her purse off the back of her chair and rifling through it. She stood and hurried out toward the entryway in that charming way of women in heels, like a tall, blond bird stalking the marshes. Reluctantly, Noboru turned to Usami-sensei. Making eye contact with the man had been a trial during the conversation so far, because his eyes were so intense, and made him think about the other life, his other life, that was the secret underside of this meeting.

"Your days sound very full and happy," the author commented.

"Yes, I guess you could say that," Noboru responded. He felt a bit guilty agreeing. "Usami-sensei…"

"Hm?" the author looked up from his hand, which he seemed to have been inspecting. Just then Aikawa came back in.

"I'm sorry, guys, but one of my other clients called with an emergency, and I really have to go!" she explained energetically.

Usami-sensei looked at her and said, "Make sure you give my regards to your 'other' client." Noboru suspected some hidden meaning, but had no clue what it was.

"I will!" she chimed, and waved at them as she walked off, the tick-ticking of her heels making a happy sound that seemed to go with her excited demeanor.

"Oh!" Noboru exclaimed. "The suit! She lent me this suit!"

"Don't worry about it. We'll meet again, and you can return it to her then."

"We will?" Noboru asked, wondering what that meant.

"Of course. It usually takes more than one interview to get enough background material to write a novel. Aikawa is paying you for your time, isn't she?" Usami-sensei replied smoothly.

"Oh, yes! I didn't mean to say—I, uh." He trailed off, finding it too difficult to pick out the true words from the false and present them in an appealing manner. Then, "Usami-sensei?"

"What is it?"

"Are you—someone from my previous life?" Noboru had an intense feeling of teetering on the edge of a precipice as these words emerged from his mouth.

A shadow fell over Akihiko Usami's face, and he said nothing for the longest while. Maybe he, too, found picking out words to suit two realities a challenge, writer though he was. However that might have been, his eyes finally locked on Noboru's, and the boy knew the answer without a single doubt. The directness of the look, with passion and pain clearly shining out, made it very clear to him that Akihiko Usami was not only an acquaintance, but someone to whom he was desperately important. His body was covered in goose bumps; ever single hair Noboru owned was now standing on end.

"Can I call you Noboru?"

"Call me Misaki if you like. I know it's my name." Akihiko looked taken aback.

"Really?" Noboru nodded. "How did you know that I was someone you knew?"

"You obviously know about the amnesia." Akihiko inclined his head to indicate that yes, he knew. "Well, I've been dreaming sometimes, and the dreams often seem to have to do with my life before the amnesia. And I dreamed about you." Akihiko's eyes widened. "Before we met at the Culinary Academy. I was so shocked to meet you, because you were familiar, from the dream."

Akihiko cleared his throat; Noboru suspected he was trying to find a way to phrase a question, so he headed him off. "Usami-sensei, were we l-l-lovers?"

Akihiko paled, and then flushed. His eyes were looking down. He cleared his throat before responding, "Are lovers. We are lovers. I haven't given up on you yet, Misaki." He paused, holding up a hand. "I know that to you, I'm a stranger, except for this dream you were talking about. You don't remember me, really, do you?" He looked up to see Noboru shake his head. "So it may seem strange to have a lover you don't know about, and it may seem impossible to you…but to me, Misaki…I…" here, the writer seemed to break down, unable to go on.

Noboru guessed at what words would be too hard to say like this, over a table in a restaurant, with a waiter due to arrive with food any moment, diners all around them, perhaps listening in on this too intimate and painful conversation.

"It is strange," he cut in. "But having amnesia is strange all around, so don't feel that it's anything about you." He thought it might be better for Usami-sensei if he steered the conversation away from what seemed to be paining him, so he continued, "Having amnesia is like being split in two, in some ways. In other ways, it's like being nobody at all. It is the weirdest experience I have ever…" He stopped himself. "Well, it's the weirdest experience I can remember having, but that's not saying much." He smiled at his dinner companion, trying to put him at ease.

"One thing that's really good about it, though," he went on, still hoping to give the author time to recover his composure, "Is you feel really free. Like there's nothing tying you down; there are no expectations. You could do or be anything." Unfortunately, this line of talk didn't seem to be making Usami-sensei feel any better. In fact, he looked devastated, and then Noboru realized how his last statement might have seemed to the older man. "Oh no! Oh, no! I didn't mean that, like, I want to cut old friends loose or anything like that!" He waved his hands, as if trying to erase what he'd just said. It was so painful looking at that stricken face.

It was really odd, it suddenly came to him. How coolly he had dismissed Dr. Kusama and his love, and here was someone who he had no recall of, except one rather wild dream, and he was practically doing back flips trying to keep his feelings from being hurt. Why on earth was that?

"You don't have to explain anything to me," Usami-sensei began. "I'm not here to pressure you to do anything. In fact, I should apologize for inviting you out under false pretenses. I just didn't want to come on too strong and frighten you, and that was the only thing I, well, Ms. Aikawa, could think of."

"Oh, no, it's okay, really! It's an honor to be interviewed by you," Noboru stopped. That was completely beside the point, wasn't it? He started over again. "I mean, I came knowing that you were someone from my past. I came suspecting that we were lovers. So there's no need to apologize. You know, people seem to think that because I've had this injury and have amnesia, that I'm fragile or unable to cope, but that's not true at all!" He thought a bit more of what he really wanted to say. "Like I was saying before, having amnesia has its advantages. And one of them is that I'm free to choose what I want to do next. I'm not locked into anything." He noticed Usami-sensei staring at him, as if he was seriously trying to understand what he was saying, and that felt reassuring. "So, if something was not working before, I don't have to keep that in this new part of my life. But at the same time, if something from my former life was good, and if I'm smart, then I'll decide to keep it."

He raised his eyes to Usagi-sensei's. "What I'm trying to say, sensei, is don't be afraid."

He saw tears in the other man's eyes, and he noticed that his eyes were welling up, too, inexplicably.

The food was finally served, and both men picked at the sumptuous feast that Usagi-sensei had ordered for them. Noboru thought it would be a good distraction to carefully note the composition of each dish, and so he did, sharing his observations with his dinner partner, who seemed to enjoy them, and had his own evaluation of the food as well. In the end, once they had gotten over that big emotional hurdle of recognizing that they were lovers separated by a blank memory, they got along well.

"Misaki," Usagi-sensei ventured, after they had eaten as much as they could. "Could I see you again?"

"Yes! I'd like that," Noboru replied simply. "I was hoping you'd ask, actually." The look of relief that flooded the sensei's face gave him a unique twist of pleasure in his gut.

"Oh!" Suddenly Usami looked stricken again.

"What is it?" Noboru asked, afraid of what he might have thought of.

"I almost forgot!" he pulled two cards out of an inside pocket of his jacket. "Here. One of these is my card—call at any time. I'm often up late, and if I don't answer, it will be because I'm either working or sleeping, but I will call you back." He handed Noboru one of the small, off-white business cards. "But this is the most important thing," he said, handing him a second one, which was the same card, but with writing on the back. "You have a brother, Misaki. His name is Takahiro, Takahiro Takahashi. He raised you since you were eight years old." Noboru looked up, surprised. "It's a long story; I'll give you a ride home in my car, and explain to you on the way, just so Takahiro doesn't have to explain it all. The important thing is that he loves you and misses you and is really worried about you. So call him when you get home. Okay?"

"Okay." Noboru took both cards and tucked them in his own pocket, making a mental note to put them on his dresser when he got home; he didn't want to forget them when he returned the suit to Aikawa.

Usami-sensei seemed to have read his mind, because the next thing he said was, "Oh, and the suit. It's yours. Just keep it." He pushed his chair back, got up, and headed for the restaurant door, throwing thousands of yen on the table. Noboru stared at the money, in shock.

"Are you coming?" He looked up at Usami-sensei, who was waiting for him.

"Yes, I'm coming." 


	16. Let There Be Love

Chapter 16

Let There Be Love

Noboru had trouble with the seatbelt in the little red sports car that Usami-sensei was driving, so that his companion had to strap him in. The man's hands touching him felt intimate and tender, and Noboru resisted the temptation to look at him while the writer was adjusting the belt around him. He felt if he'd just turned his head a little, he could have met Usami-sensei's lips, and then…and then…

"There you go," Usami said, as the tongue clicked into its slot. Noboru held himself very still until Usami's hands were on the wheel, and he was being driven home.

"Right here," he said, as they approached his apartment house. "That one," he pointed. His heart fluttered at the realization that Usami-sensei now knew where he lived. "Thanks for driving me."

Usami brought the car to a complete stop, jumped out and walked swiftly around to open the passenger door while Noboru fumbled with the seatbelt. He looked up at the man standing over him. "Heh, thanks, Usami-sensei." He unfolded himself out of the car and stood close-really, enticingly close-to the man who he now knew had been his lover.

"Do me a favor, Misaki?" the tall man asked as Noboru wondered whether he should try to squeeze out from between Usami-sensei and the car door to get to the apartment stairs.

"What's that?"

"Could you call me Usagi-san? That's what you always called me. It's my nickname." Usami-sensei was so incredibly hesitant when asking this, and Noboru felt pity and tenderness for him.

"Of course," he said. "Thanks and good night, Usagi-san!" He began to inch pass the taller man.

"Misaki." Usagi took a step toward him, and Noboru held his breath for an instant. "I'll call you," was all Usagi-san said, though, and, after a moment of hesitation, he walked back around the car and got into the driver's seat. Noboru watched him drive off before climbing the steps to his apartment.

He took the two business cards out of the inside pocket of the suit jacket, the handsome suit that Usami-sensei—no, Usagi-san- said belonged to him. He brushed the expensive fabric with the palm of his hand, wondering at it. Usagi-san must have bought it for him. He wondered what the occasion had been for the gift, but he hadn't asked anything about their past together. Usagi-san had let him talk on and on about cooking school and hadn't insisted on talking about the past.

He took a deep breath and flipped the one card over and dialed the number on it. "Hello? I'm sorry to call so late, but can I talk to Takahiro Takahashi?" A woman was speaking to him.

"Misaki? Is that Misaki?" Her voice quavered.

"Y-yes, it's Misaki. I'm sorry, who is this? Is this my brother's wife?"

"It's Manami!"

Manami? Oh, God. The dream. This was a bit creepy. No time to worry about that, though. "I'm sorry, Manami, but I kind of have amnesia, so I don't remember everything I should. You're Takahiro's wife, right?"

"Yes! Yes! Takahiro's wife! Let me go get him! He'll be so happy!" He heard Manami in the background, her voice high, words coming fast. She was going to get his brother really worked up, so he'd better stay calm.

"Hello? Is that you, Misaki?"

"Yes, it's me. Is this Takahiro?"

"Yes, of course, it's me. Don't you recognize my voice?" Then a pause, as the realization sunk in on the other end. "You don't, do you?"

"I'm sorry. I don't, but I'm happy I found you." Noboru's stomach felt queasy at the thought of having to tell this man he didn't remember him.

"How did you get my number, Misaki?"

"Usa-Usami-sensei gave it to me."

"Usami? You saw him?" Takahiro's voice sounded a little tense. Noboru was beginning to have a bad feeling.

"Uh, yeah, I just had dinner with him." Silence. Noboru's sixth sense told him this was not good news to Takahiro. "Uh, you know, Takahiro, he was really insistent that I call you. He gave me your number and said it was very important I contact you right away. Uh, so here I am, contacting you!"

There was a brief silence on the line. "Yeah, thanks. I'm really glad you called." Another pause. "Misaki, tell me where you are. I'm coming to get you."

"Uh, no, that's not necessary. I was just going to turn in. It's been a long day, and I still have to do my laundry. I have to wash my uniform every night, you know. I only have one."

"Uniform?" Takahiro sounded lost.

"Oh, I'm going to the Culinary Academy. It's really great. But I get food on my jacket every day, so I have to wash it. It's regulations, you know, uh, there are a lot of regulations in the food industry."

"Uh, yeah, I guess there are. How did you even get involved with this culinary academy?"

"Well, it has to do with the amnesia, so it's kind of a long story. Look, Takahiro, it's late. I just wanted to make sure we talked as soon as possible. I thought maybe we could get together for dinner after my classes are over tomorrow and we can talk longer, and get reacquainted." Noboru hoped this would be enough for the anxious-sounding man on the other end of the line.

"But it's really no trouble for me to come and get you now. You can go to school from our apartment tomorrow."

"Th-that really won't be necessary. I-I know, I mean, I really would like to meet, to see you, but, uh, like I said, my laundry—"

"I see," Takahiro said, sounding as if he didn't. "So you want to wait until tomorrow to see us?" his brother asked.

"Yeah, if it's okay with you. I'll meet you someplace, if you like, but I don't know too many restaurants."

"No, no, why don't you come here for dinner, to our house? That will be more homey. We can relax. Shall I come get you?" Takahiro asked.

"No, I can get there by subway, if you give me the address."

Noboru hung up, knowing that he had disappointed Takahiro. He wondered if he would really be able to relax at the place Takahiro called home.

******  
>Takahiro let Manami take the receiver from him and hang up the phone. Then she took him by the hand and led him to the couch, sitting down with him, still holding his hand, and waited, even though her own heart was crying out for news of her brother-in-law.<p>

"He didn't recognize my voice," he said. Manami squeezed his hand. "And he didn't want to come home. It's so hard to believe. I finally spoke to him, but he seems so different—so distant." Takahiro began to weep, burying his face in Manami's shoulder. She held him and rocked him. Later she would try to get him to see that this was probably not as bad a sign as he feared.

******

Miyagi and Kamijou rode home together in Miyagi's white Nissan. It had become a routine already. Kamijou disliked the extra Miyagi-time the drive represented, but he appreciated the speed with which he could arrive home after work and the additional hour it allowed him to devote to his research or, God forbid, grading papers. And, of course, more Miyagi-time. He really had to wonder what it was that young Shinobu saw in the man.

"Going home with bonnie Kamijou!" Miyagi sang, as if it were a Broadway musical tune. Kamijou closed his eyes and pretended he was somewhere else. When he felt the car jerk to a stop, he opened his eyes and the door with almost one movement, letting himself out on the pavement, his briefcase already in hand.

Miyagi beat him to the door of the apartment, which he opened, calling out, "Kamijou's home!" Kamijou slunk in behind him and went directly to the guest room, where he set up his laptop on the desk and dived right into his work.

But any experienced Miyagi-avoider would know, as Kamijou knew, that merely closing oneself into a room and applying oneself to work was not enough to hold off the incursions of the beast known as Miyagi. The door opened, but Kamijou did not even bother to look and see who it was, because he knew.

"Time for cocktails, my sweet honey!"

"Don't be an idiot. I don't drink while I'm working," Kamijou growled.

"Why is my lovely Kamijou such a wet blanket tonight?" The voice was coming closer, and the hackles rose on Kamijou's neck.

"Why doesn't the beastly Miyagi understand that I have work to do when I get home?" Kamijou countered.

Hands descended on his shoulders and massaged. It was part of the game, just as it would have been part of the game if Kamijou had violently shoved Miyagi's hands off his shoulders and told him to go fuck himself. But though Kamijou had to admit that Miyagi seemed to understand pretty well how he worked, Miyagi hadn't had time to catch Kamijou's latest shift in mood.

The extremely troubling feeling of Miyagi's strong hands on his tense shoulders sent great shockwaves of desire straight to his crotch, and Kamijou was hard put to continue pretending to be both annoyed and intent on his work. Though he resisted his arousal with all his might, he found his mind running away with an image of what it would be like to lean into Miyagi—if he did, would he feel Miyagi's cock pressed against his back? He shuddered inwardly.

He hadn't experienced anything like this for a long while, this complete breakdown of his ego. There had been Hiroki in desperate, unrequited love; there had been slutty Hiroki, sleeping with random men out of the bitterness of disappointment; and there had been happy Hiroki, being fucked as often as he cared to be by the adoring Nowaki. Just thinking that name sent a jolt of lightening through his tender self-esteem, aggravating every single one of his emotional nerve-endings.

But this was the first time in a long time that he had had to face devastated, heart-broken Hiroki. Maybe it was the process of having his self-esteem crushed and panting on the ground, or maybe it was the experience of being accepted without question into Miyagi's home and treated like an honored guest. Then there was that one night, that first wild, outrageous night.

Had Nowaki's betrayal broken something inside of him? If so, damn him again and again. He had seen from the beginning how Nowaki had turned him into a blithering, weeping idiot. But to have his reserve penetrated by the maniac Miyagi and his Lolita was far too much for Kamijou's pride to bear.

And yet, here he was, getting an erection from being touched by his mentor and foe.

He had to do something.

"Miyagi?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Get your goddamned hands off of me." The hands moved, not off of him, but down the sides of his arms and back up again. Kamijou found himself tracking their movements as what felt like two thumbs pressed into the base of his skull, creating a sensation that was—aaaahhhh! Kamijou's head flopped forward onto his chest, and his voice sounded distorted as he said, "I mean it." The flat of Miyagi's palm was now placed on the back of Kamijou's neck and rubbed up and down, creating a soothing warmth.

Still, even though Kamijou recognized that the massage was meant to relax his muscles rather than excite his cock, he couldn't avoid the reality that it was throbbing ever more painfully with every touch of Miyagi's hands.

"Miyagi!"

"But you're enjoying it so much! I can feel you relax under my touch!" Miyagi gloated in his horrible way.

Kamijou's hand went up to press down on Miyagi's, stilling them. "I can't. I can't take it anymore." His voice had a little crack in it.

A long pause. Then, "Lend me Shinobu for tonight."

The hands released themselves from Kamijou's.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Kamijou, my love." Miyagi's voice had lost its croon. He was trying, but there was a serious edge to his tone that was unmistakable.

"Why not? You keep telling me you want to ease my pain, with every word and gesture. Is it all for show?" Kamijou's voice was ragged. He had just given up every ounce of pride in his soul and felt his heart wilting by the second, though his damned cock remained as stiff as ever.

"Well, not exactly." Kamijou heard the click of a cigarette lighter and smelled the first whiff of smoke. Miyagi had rigidly avoided smoking in this room up until now: the request must have struck a nerve. "I'm willing to do a great deal to make things better for you, Kamijou. Believe it or not, I am worried about you. I know I clown around, and it's hard to take me seriously, but that's the truth." He puffed. "But Shinobu's a thing apart. Off limits."

"How can you say that, when you let him go down on me that first night?" Kamijou knew he sounded pathetic, but once he'd started something, he didn't know how to back down.

"Well, that." Puff. "That was a momentary excess of generosity that I'm afraid my poor little soul isn't up to meeting again. What you'd call a one-time deal." Kamijou heard a smile in Miyagi's voice, but he knew Miyagi was dead serious. Kamijou hardly knew what he was doing. It was like watching a stranger walk off a cliff from a mile off. He was horrified and powerless as words seem to pop out from his lips with no direction from his brain.

"Then you do me. Please."

A heavy pause. "That's up to Shinobu, but the answer will be 'No,' I have a very strong feeling." Kamijou felt Miyagi move, and then he felt a kiss planted on the top of his head. "Kamijou, it's time you took your love back to where it belongs. Shinobu is mine, and I'm his. You have a person you love. You may be pissed as hell at him, but you obviously love him. Otherwise you wouldn't be suffering like this."

"What do you mean? The bastard cheated on me with the amnesia kid!" This came out of Kamijou in a rapid burst of indignation and pain. His heart raged at having Nowaki thrown back at him on top of this double rejection by Miyagi.

"That's true, that's true. No denying it. But you still love him, and there's nothing you can do about that. I know you don't really want my advice, but here it is anyway. Go back to your love nest and refeather it. Take your giant back, read him the riot act, stand on his balls, make sure he knows how much he hurt you. But let there be love, Kamijou. Let there be love."

Kamijou sat for a while, unable to come up with a rejoinder to this speech. Before he could get his lips and tongue unfrozen, he heard the door creak open and quietly shut again, and he was alone.

The giant so-named was at that moment hiding out in a dark and empty patient room, an arm draped over his eyes, trying to understand what had become of his life. He had flung Hiro-san aside to run after Noboru, who had turned out to be nothing but a shadow.

He had even put off telling Noboru that he was really Misaki Takahashi. That was something that Hiro-san and Akihiko might never forgive. It had been very selfish. Nowaki had not known Misaki, but Noboru had seemed like someone very special to him, someone precious and deserving of love. But Noboru himself had said it: that the person he yearned for was not the flesh-and-blood man but his past self, a self who could still be saved.

And instead of saving himself or anyone else, he had made his own life much, much worse. And Hiro-san's. What had he done to Hiro-san?

How does someone throw away the love of his life for an illusion? What kind of meaning did such an act have?

How was he to go on from here? Nowaki had no idea.

Music played in the dark apartment, a piano trio with a female vocalist, her phrasing slow, nostalgic, the stand-up bass underlining the melancholy mood. Akihiko sat on one of the couches, a cigarette between two fingers. Every once in a while he would take a drag, just to keep it going. "Don't be afraid, sensei," he had said. It was an easy thing to say. Misaki had always been a moron, come to think of it. He was afraid. How could he not be?

After these weeks of waiting, yearning, and despairing, he had finally seen Misaki again. Spoken to him, and remarkably enough, Misaki was the one who had brought it all up. So the hurdle was crossed. And on the other side of the hurdle—the new, independent Misaki. Akihiko wanted to laugh when he recalled feeling so calm and ecstatic at witnessing this new independence for the first time at the Culinary Academy. 

And now the purple dusk of twilight time  
>Steals across the meadows of my heart<br>High up in the sky the little stars climb  
>Always reminding me that we're apart<p>

He had finally seen him; he'd been this close, across the table, standing right next to him on the pavement outside his apartment. He'd even touched him when adjusting his seatbelt. Why hadn't he kissed him right there in the car? Or grabbed his wrist as he turned to go up the apartment stairs?

He could feel it right now, as if Misaki were right here with him. If he just leaned forward, he could wrap his arms around his waist, bury his face in his stomach and kiss him like he never had before, his lips burning brands into his skin so he could never leave again. Misaki, Misaki, stay with me. Misaki was in his arms, he touched the smooth skin on the inside of his arms and his thighs, smelled his hot, passionate breath, heard his cries of pleasure. Akihiko's body ached for it.

And then he fell out of his fervid dream, cold and feeling further away from his lover than he'd ever been. Because Misaki saw him as a stranger, someone only remembered in a dream.

How had they come together? Misaki had needed a tutor, Akihiko had wanted to please Takahiro, Takahiro had become engaged, and Akihiko had been swept away by Misaki's compassionate tears. The rest, as they said, was history. But Misaki's history had been wiped out by that fatal blow. Nothing to be done about it. In one crushing moment, the love of his life had been stolen from him. He could cry and scream, stamp his foot and demand action, but who would be listening? Misaki was there and not there.

Sometimes I wonder why I spend  
>The lonely night dreaming of a song<br>The melody haunts my reverie  
>And I am once again with you<br>When our love was new

A slow, introspective piano riff mixed with throaty vocals; the music pierced his heart and let the sadness gush out.

Akihiko had to win Misaki all over again, a Misaki who happily crowed about his choices. Misaki had never wanted a male lover; he had wanted to be a normal guy, and here was his chance. Just leave the things that didn't work behind, he'd said. But don't be afraid, sensei.

Furthermore, what did Akihiko have to offer that this new Misaki wanted? The boy was a mystery to him, and Akihiko was terrified that Misaki would find nothing in him to love.

The question was: was Akihiko what Misaki really wanted? His happiness now relied on the answer.

The smoke hung around his head like an atmosphere made of his own anxiety. How he would like to be free, like Misaki, and courageous. Ready to face whatever life brought next. Unlike Misaki, though, he didn't have a choice. For him, it was Misaki or nothing.

Though I dream in vain  
>In my heart it will remain<br>My stardust melody  
>The memory of love's refrain<p>

"Stardust" lyrics by Mitchell Parish 


	17. The Most Important Person

Chapter 17

The Most Important Person

Noboru had passed on the invitation to go out drinking after class and rushed home to change into street clothes. He was back out the door and on his way to the station in five minutes.

When the train arrived at his stop, it was so packed that he almost didn't get to the doors before they closed. But he made it through just as the bell was sounding, and he popped out of the crowd and onto the platform, a little out of breath. He ascended the stairs and exited the station, consulting the address written on a scrap of paper.

In the end, the time spent with Dr. Kusama wandering the city had paid off, and he found the address. Noboru experienced another pang as the thought of his rejected mentor passed through his mind, but he pushed it aside as he rang the bell. This is a big moment, self, so eyes forward! Do your best!

The door was answered by a beautiful young woman with soft eyes and a shapely figure. Noboru bowed and began introducing himself, but Manami swooped him up in her arms and squeezed him. He was speechless at this sudden sweet attack, but recovered enough to stutter out: "G-good evening! I'm N-no—I'm Misaki!"

Manami laughed. "Of course you are!" When she let him go, her eyes were glowing, and he realized that they were full of tears. "Come in! Takahiro was too nervous to answer the door," she cried gaily, taking him by the hand and leading him into the kitchen, where a tall, thin man in glasses stood at the sink with the water running.

"Hello," Noboru said. The man turned around, his expression full of restrained emotion. He hesitated a moment and then he, too, embraced Noboru, who noticed that he didn't put down the vegetable peeler he held. Takahiro's hands were wet, and Noboru could feel the damp through the back of his shirt. "Brother?"

"Misaki." Takahiro spoke the name as if it were a blessing. Noboru felt it as something warm streaming in directly from Takahiro's chest to his: the vibrations of his voice, and the warmth of its tone. He was beginning to like his new name. No, his old name.

Takahiro placed his hands on either side of Misaki's face and just gazed at him for a minute. It made Misaki intensely uncomfortable, but he bore it. Even though he didn't remember much about his own life, and he didn't feel a brotherly connection with Takahiro, he understood what it must be like to suddenly lose a brother.

"Why don't we let Misaki sit down while we finish making dinner?" Manami suggested. This caused Takahiro to finally let go of Misaki's face. Misaki had to restrain himself from rubbing his cheeks. "Let me make tea. Sit down at the table, Misaki!"

"Why don't you let me help? I am in cooking school, after all!" he replied.

"You don't need to go to cooking school!" Takahiro said. "You knew how to cook before—" and he stopped.

"Before I was injured, yeah?" Misaki said, helpfully. "I thought so! When I first walked into Dr. Kusama's kitchen, I had this feeling that I had a lot of cooking experience. It was like I could feel the utensils in my hands, and they felt really familiar." Manami laughed, and Misaki smiled at her. She seemed really nice and very happy to see him. "Here, let me have this." He held his hands out for the peeler that Takahiro was holding. He noticed Takahiro and Manami exchange smiles out of the corner of his eye. "I can do this!" He took a daikon off the kitchen counter, tossed it up and caught it. Takahiro showed him the cutting board and knives, and Misaki got down to work.

Thirty minutes later, Manami put the steaming pot on the table, along with the daikon and a big bowl of rice, and they dug in.

"So you chose to go to cooking school because you remembered something about cooking?" Takahiro asked, after having had his fill.

"I guess that's pretty much it. I took a test, and it showed me a bunch of things I'd be good at, and professional chef was one of them. I could have been a bus driver, but I was afraid I couldn't see over the steering wheel," he said, stroking his chin, which caused Manami and Takahiro to laugh. Watching them around the table, their faces filled with the joy of their reunion, he thought, so this is what it's like to be a family. Pretty nice.

"But Misaki, you were studying economics at M University."

"I was? A university student?"

"Yes, you were. And you need to go back as soon as possible. You've already missed several weeks of classes."

Misaki's heart fell. Economics? That didn't sound like something he wanted to do. But he wasn't ready to disappoint Takahiro, who seemed to genuinely care about him, almost like a father.

Manami seemed to notice his distress. "And somehow Akihiko found you at the Culinary Academy?" she jumped in, trying to move the conversation back on track.

"I'm not really sure how that came about," Misaki offered apologetically. "I think it had something to do with his editor, Ms. Aikawa."

"She was there, too?" Takahiro seemed shocked.

"Well, yeah. She's really nice," Misaki remarked, hoping he could somehow reassure Takahiro. He glanced at Manami; maybe she wouldn't like him talking about a pretty woman with her husband.

"Akihiko gave you our number, didn't he?" she jumped in. Misaki was relieved. It seemed that Manami would be his ally in keeping Takahiro from turning their first meeting into an inquisition about Usagi-san. Obviously something was going on between the two men, and Misaki sensed that it had something to do with his return, but he didn't understand what it was.

"Yes, he made a big deal of it. He wrote it on a card and insisted I call you that same night." He looked at Takahiro. "I was kind of nervous about calling you."

"Nervous? Why?" Takahiro laughed. Misaki swallowed. He didn't want this dinner to turn into a minefield, like his dinner with Usagi-san, where he ended up saying all sorts of things that upset the man who was his lover from a previous life.

"It's…uh…a brother is important!" he finally said. "Families are important, and I wanted to make a good impression." Takahiro smiled at this.

"Misaki, I'm your brother. You don't have to make an impression on me. Now look, Misaki, I don't see why—"

"Takahiro," Manami interrupted, as she stood to clear the table, but Takahiro talked over her.

"—why you can't come to live with us? It would be natural; you could save on rent, and you would have us right here to help you out, in case you needed it."

"Takahiro!" Manami tried again, but this time Misaki interrupted her.

"It's okay, Manami. Takahiro," He still felt awkward addressing the man this way; it felt far too familiar, but he couldn't think what else to call his brother without hurting his feelings. "Takahiro, I just think it would be better for me to stay where I am now. I'm close to the Culinary Academy, so that allows me to get as much sleep as I need." Instinctively, Misaki played up the health angle. "And besides, a couple like you doesn't want a young man like me getting in your way." He smiled raffishly and made his older brother blush.

"That's what you said when you moved into Usagi's apartment!"

Misaki stared at him. "I—what?"

"When Manami and I moved to Osaka, and you moved into Usagi's place. You kept house for him, in return for your room and board. That was when—" Takahiro stopped. This was getting onto dangerous ground.

"I lived with Usagi-san?"

Takahiro realized he had really made a tactical error when he saw Misaki's face—he couldn't tell what the emotion he saw there, but why did he have to go and mention that whole business? If he'd just kept quiet about it, maybe they could have started over from scratch, and that whole homosexual interlude could be forgotten.

"Takahiro, could you tell me a little bit about Usagi-san and me? I mean, I don't remember any of it, and it would be kind of rude to ask him, so…"

"Oh, it was just a—"

"Takahiro." This time, Manami sounded very stern, and her eyes seemed to rivet Takahiro to his seat. "Time to do the dishes. Misaki, I hope you'll come and have dinner with us again, soon. Maybe a week from today?"

"Er, yeah, of course! You're my brother and sister, right?"

"Right," she smiled.

As Misaki left, having hugged them both good-bye, he wondered what Takahiro had been going to say about Usagi-san. He was left with an uneasy feeling about the relationship between these two men who had been so important to his former self.

********

"Takahiro," Manami placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned into him playfully. "Don't you think we should let Misaki get used to us gradually?"

"Huh?" Takahiro turned from the suds and dishes in the sink to stare blankly at his wife. Clearly he'd been deep in thought. "Why do you say that?"

"Because you asked him to live with us again," she said, as delicately as she could.

"Why shouldn't I? He's my brother!" Takahiro dropped a knife, and suds splashed up on his sleeve.

"To you, he's your brother, the same as always, but to him, you're someone new. I know it's hard to accept," she went on, cutting Takahiro off when he started to argue with her, "But from his point of view, we're complete strangers. He did a really good job covering it up tonight." She sighed. "But I think it must be very hard for him. I know you love him, Takahiro, but the best thing you can give him now is time." She smiled to ease the blow of her words. He looked sadly back at her with glasses marked by water spots.

******  
>As Misaki reached home, he checked his phone and saw he had a message. He listened and heard a distorted, staticky verion of Usagi-san's voice, which made his heart beat faster. He listened through the whole brief message and then listened to it again.<p>

Quickly, he dialed the number. Usagi-san picked up on the first ring, and he laughed inside with excitement.

"Usami residence." Akihiko's voice was tense.

"Hello, Usagi-san, it's me. Misaki," he breathed out in one whoosh of air.

"Misaki." Relief? Happiness. Misaki's heart pumped.

"I'm sorry I missed your call. I was having dinner with Takahiro and Manami. Otherwise I would have called back sooner." Again, his words came out in a rush.

There was a pause, and he heard Usagi-san chuckle. "Is that right? How was it?"

"It was fine. Manami cooked a stew with eggplant and pork, and I explained to them about cooking school, and, well, I mostly talked about myself," he finished, realizing that it had been impossible to ask questions about Takahiro and Manami without making it painfully obvious how little he knew about them, something he wasn't willing to throw in their faces.

Usagi-san laughed again. "You're still the same," he grumbled in his low voice. "You need to learn to think before you speak. That all came out in a jumble." Misaki would have been tempted to defend himself, except for the tone of affection. "Let me take you out again."

"No!" Misaki answered.

A stunned silence. "No?"

"No! I don't want you to be the one always taking me out. I'd like to cook something for you, only my apartment is so small, and the stove isn't the greatest. But if you didn't mind that, then I'd really like you to come over and have dinner here."

"When?"

"Tomorrow night, if you're free."

"I'm free." The answer almost came before Misaki had finished speaking.

I wish it could be tonight, he found himself thinking. As he went down the stairs to the laundry room to start his uniform drying, he suddenly realized. He had begun to think of himself as "Misaki." 


	18. Back Where I Belong

Chapter 18

Back Where I Belong

Kamijou woke early, around sunrise. Surprisingly, he felt completely rested and alert. He was conscious of having had a delicious dream, and perhaps that was why his heart seemed to feel so light this morning. Whatever the reason, he rose directly and took his shower before the other two got up. He dressed and was in the kitchen making breakfast by the time they emerged with sleepy eyes and messy hair from their bedroom.

It only took one "Kamiiiijoooou!" for him to regret the toast, eggs, and coffee he had prepared for his hosts.

"Breakfast, Shinobu," he announced, ignoring his senior. Shinobu stared frankly at him, and out of gratitude for the brat's tolerance of his presence and for their brief moment of intimacy, Kamijou ignored him. Miyagi joined him, and Kamijou, having already eaten his, grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door. "I'll leave first. See you at the office," he said to Miyagi.

"Wait, and ride with me!"

"No, it's all right. I don't want to get too spoiled."

Miyagi could have sworn there was a smile on his lips. He and Shinobu exchanged a look, but said nothing more about it.

Instead of going all the way to the university, Kamijou got off at the station near the flower shop and went and sat in the café across the street. He remembered sitting here in his hat and trench coat, watching Nowaki go about his business. He knew he was being stupid and sentimental, but it felt good to sit here and enjoy the morning freshness and drink the hot coffee. And think about Nowaki.

Of course, whenever he thought of Nowaki, there was a shot of pain right to his heart. But he was learning to bear it. As long as there was some point to it, Kamijou thought, he could bear it. And the point was that he was going to get Nowaki back.

It had nothing to do with that fool Miyagi's speech the night before, and it had nothing to do with the dream he'd had of being held in Nowaki's arms. Of course not; Kamijou was not someone to be affected by such sentimental thinking.

It was more living in the middle of Miyagi and Shinobu's happy domesticity, as fractious and oddly-matched as they were together, that made him yearn to be back home. Not in the apartment he shared with Nowaki, but with Nowaki himself.

He had neither forgiven nor forgotten the hurt dealt to him by the idiot giant. But neither was he going to let the love of his life get away from him again.

*******

Nowaki climbed the steps to the apartment. It was the end of an exhausting day. A patient had died: a five-year-old. He felt as if he could sleep for a year. He let himself in, hung up his jacket, and put his bag on the shelf in the living room where he kept it.

He stopped in the hallway. There was a familiar smell in the house, one that shouldn't be there. He sniffed. Going into the bedroom, he looked for signs of anything missing, but found nothing. He went into the bathroom, and he saw it.

Hiro's aftershave was on the counter. And his toothbrush was in the cup. His heart seized with—with what? Joy? Terror? Both, perhaps. He hurried back into the hallway and softly opened the door to the guest room. In the dim light coming from his own bedroom that made its way into the darkened bedroom, he could make out a lumpy shape on the futon.

He expelled the breath he had been unconscious of holding. Hiro-san?

He slowly backed up and returned to the front door. Letting himself out, he slumped down against the wall, his head buried in his arms. He was not ready for this. He had so completely betrayed Hiro-san; he couldn't bear to have the man he had loved look at him, see him as the traitor he was.

He sat that way for a long time, accepting the chill of the night air as partial punishment for hurting his Hiro-san. Eventually, though, he realized that he was once more being selfish. He couldn't stand for Hiro-san to see him? Was he the one to choose? No, it was up to Hiro-san. If he had come to spend the night in the apartment, apparently, he chose to be close to Nowaki, and it wasn't up to Nowaki to avoid the pain of this meeting. Slowly, Nowaki stood and reentered the apartment. He undressed for bed and lay down, but sleep didn't find him for a very, very long time.

Misaki rushed home after school once more. His friends were starting to make fun of him for his frequent dates, and he was helpless to defend himself. After all, tonight's dinner was a real date. His heart skipped a beat as he thought about it. Letting himself into the apartment, he stripped off his uniform, but instead of getting dressed again all the way, he took everything off and tried to see his naked body in the mirror. It wasn't a full-length mirror, but only came down to about his waist, so he stood on his bed to try to see his lower half.

He wasn't much. Really, a skinny boy with almost no body hair. It was embarrassing. What had Usagi-san seen in it, in him? He brushed his hand over his dick and realized soon it was a mistake to do that while thinking about Usagi-san. It sprang to erection almost immediately, and his body was filled and energized with a raging desire to be touched by Usagi-san. He stood and watched himself do it, bracing himself against the wall, stroking himself, and thinking about the tall man with the deep voice.

He cleaned up afterward, washing his hands thoroughly and cursing himself for letting those minutes slip by. He dashed down on his daily run to the laundry room and ran back up to start dinner. He'd stopped by the grocery store on his way home and had taken a long time choosing the ingredients for tonight's meal. Usagi-san was obviously used to eating in fine restaurants, and it was agony to think how his meal might be compared to those.

In the end, he'd decided to make katsudon. It was easy, and tasted good when made fresh. He remembered Takahiro making it when…whoa, shit. Misaki sat down at the kitchen table, holding his head. Chills covered his whole back, and he was breathing fast as images flashed through his mind. He tried to grab hold of them, like a child trying to jump up and catch a kite string as it rises higher and higher above him. But it was gone. He put his head on top of his arms, which rested on the table.

And woke up to the ringing of the doorbell. He jumped up and fumbled with the lock, saying "Coming! Coming!" Finally, he flung the door open, and there stood Usagi-san on the step. He had an expression on his face that looked as if he had just barely managed to suppress a broad grin. In his hand was a bunch of pink and white roses, wrapped in paper and ribbon, which he held out toward Misaki.

"W-welcome," he stuttered, standing in the doorway and looking from the flowers in his arms to Usagi, forgetting to let his guest in. "Oh!" He stepped back and said, "Come in!"

As he shut the door, he gestured around the tiny apartment with his arm. "Well, this is all of it. I told you it was small," he said nervously. "Oh! A vase!" But he knew he didn't have any. He found a jar that had contained pickled vegetables, half-filled it with water, and stood it and the flowers on the table. "They're beautiful," he added.

Now he was too embarrassed to look at Usagi-san. He looked at his feet instead, and looking at them reminded him of the unmade dinner. "Oh, I'm sorry! I meant to have dinner ready, but instead I fell asleep! I'll make it now though! You just sit down at the table, and we can talk. Actually, I want to get your advice about something."

Akihiko sat, feeling gratified. "What about?"

"Well, Takahiro told me that I was studying economics at M University."

"Actually that's how you and I met. Takahiro asked me to tutor you so you could pass the college entrance exam and be accepted to M University."

"Really? Was I a good student?" Usagi-san seemed to be trying to smother another laugh. "I guess not, huh?"

Akihiko could not stop himself. The laugh began small and just got bigger and bigger. He covered the lower half of his face, but Misaki could see his merry, blue eyes peeking out over his hand. Misaki couldn't tell that more than anything right now, Usagi wanted to take him in his arms and squeeze him. "Well, you finally got in off the waitlist."

"Oh." Misaki's face fell. "Anyway, Takahiro seems to think I need to go back there and continue my studies. Only, I really want to finish cooking school."

Usagi thought for a minute. "Well, he's your brother, and he's invested a lot in you, not only in terms of money for your tuition and books, but he wants the best for you." He fell silent, and Misaki began getting the ingredients for the katsudon out of the refrigerator. "Maybe you should understand why you decided on that course of study in the first place before you make a decision."

"Okay, so tell me why." Misaki got a bowl out to mix the egg up.

"Your brother had to quit college to raise you, and he had been set to attend M University as an economics student. You did it to make him happy."

"No kidding? Wow," Misaki responded, as he used a fork to scramble the eggs. "But why did he have to raise me? Where were my parents?" Misaki had a feeling it wasn't anything good, and that was confirmed when Usagi-san didn't answer right away.

"Well, they were killed in a car accident when you were eight and Takahiro was eighteen. I'm sorry to tell you like this," Usagi-san offered.

Misaki paused in a crouch, into which he'd dropped to pull a pan out of the drawer under the stove. He hefted the cast iron skillet in his hand, wanting to feel its solidity, to feel something real to balance against the emptiness he suddenly felt in his chest.

"I'm really sorry," Usagi-san said again, after a while.

"It's okay," Misaki answered, straightening and setting the pan on the stove. "I mean, it's sad," he hastily corrected. He dipped the pork in the egg and then in breadcrumbs and started the pan heating with a little oil in it. He looked into the pan and watched the oil shiver as it began to get hot. "It seems like I've had some drama in my life."

"That's why you're so important to Takahiro. And he's important to you." Usagi's voice was serious. "I hope you can make a place in your life for him, Misaki."

Misaki looked at Usagi-san. "You really care about Takahiro, don't you?"

Usagi didn't answer this at first. He seemed to be staring at Misaki's bookshelf. Then he said, "Since we're starting over, and I'm serious about this, I suppose I should tell you all of it." He paused again. Misaki went back to cooking, putting the meat in the pan, causing a lot of sizzling as he did so. "I was in love with Takahiro for ten years."

"Ow!" Misaki's hand sprang back after touching the rim of the pan. Usagi-san's revelation had distracted him, and he'd forgotten what he was doing. He sucked on the finger.

"You'd better run that under cold water."

Misaki went over the sink to cool his burn and was grateful that Usagi had to stop talking for a minute or two. Usagi had been in love with Takahiro? Then how had he and Usagi-san gotten together? Did he even want to know?

He went back to the stove to turn down the burner under the pork, and he got a daikon out of the refrigerator and began chopping it. "So, if you were in love with Takahiro, why aren't you with him?" He didn't mean it to, but the question came out as an accusation.

"I never told Takahiro about my feelings. Around the time that I started tutoring you, he got engaged to Manami, and it was too late. And that was how I fell for you."

Misaki stopped chopping and turned to look at Usagi. "Seriously?" Usagi met his eye, and a thrill went through him.

"The day he announced his engagement, you took me outside and cried and cried. You cried so much you couldn't stop. And I watched you crying for me, and I fell hard." Usagi-san smiled. "You sure make a mess of yourself when you cry."

Misaki tried to digest all of this, but it was too much, and his mind was racing onward."Usagi-san?"

"Yes?"

"What happened between you and Takahiro after you and I got together? He gets kind of strange when I mention you."

"Ah, well that didn't actually happen as soon as you and I got together. You see," Usagi plunged in, "Neither of us told him that we were lovers. We just treated the arrangement as one of convenience as far as everyone else was concerned. Aikawa and Isaka, her boss, figured it out after they walked in on you and me a couple of times—"

"What? They did? Aikawa's seen me—"

"Oh and she just went right on haranguing me about my deadlines. Don't worry about Aikawa. One of the first things on my list is to reinstruct you about the care and feeding of Aikawa. But that's another discussion. Until you had your accident, as far as Takahiro was concerned, I was your landlord, tutor, and mentor, nothing more."

"Whoa, that was kind of chicken shit of us."

Usagi-san stared at him, wondering whether to tell Misaki he was too young to be lecturing him about how to live life as a gay man. But there was too much rocky ground to cover, and he overlooked it. "About two weeks after you went missing, Takahiro and I had a falling out. We were both exhausted and overwrought. We were spending all of our free time wandering the streets of Tokyo looking for you, and both of us snapped. He said something about how I couldn't possibly mind your being missing as much as he did, and then I told him the exact nature of our relationship. He used a few choice names for me, and he left, and the first time we spoke after that was when I told him we'd found you."

"Wow." Misaki wiped his hands on a towel he had tucked into his waistband. "Just, wow." He turned the burner off under the pork and went to sit at the table near Usagi. "I feel awful."

"Why? It was Takahiro and I who behaved badly. You had nothing to do with it."

Misaki flashed him an angry look. "That's not true. You fought over me. If I hadn't gotten beaten up, then you two would still be friends." Misaki had tried many times to imagine what it felt like to the people he had left behind, to not know where he was. But he had never imagined this kind of thing, friends being torn apart. When he thought about it, it had to cause a lot of damage when one piece of a family was suddenly torn out of the fabric of the family's life. And that's what had happened.

"Seriously, Misaki; you can't blame yourself for Takahiro and me fighting."

"It's not as simple as whose fault it is. I'm in the middle of this. It's like just by being taken out of the picture, I caused damage to both you and Takahiro." He leaned his face in his hands. "Oh!"

"What is it?"

"Just before you came! I remembered Takahiro!"

"You did?"

"Yes! I was thinking about making katsudon, and I suddenly remembered Takahiro in the kitchen frying pork cutlets, and the smell, and how good it tasted!" Misaki's face turned pink at the memory. "And then I fell asleep. That's why I remembered just now," he said sheepishly. "Anyway, to get back to you and Takahiro, I think you two had better make up."

Suddenly, Usagi looked very uncertain. "I don't know, Misaki. We both said some pretty harsh things. Words like that can't be taken back."

"Well, you'll just have to figure out how to go forward, then." Misaki looked sideways at him, as he got up to continue cooking. "Otherwise, I'll feel like it's my fault that you're not friends anymore."

He began chopping the remainder of the daikon.

"Careful! Don't get a cut, as well as a burn." Usagi was now standing right behind him, sliding arms around him. He felt lips on his ear, and he set the knife down on the cutting board and closed his eyes. "Misaki," Usagi-san whispered. Misaki let his head fall back against the broad, solid chest. The kisses descended to his neck. The feeling of Usagi-san's lips and tongue on his sensitive skin sent waves of pleasure rolling down his body, accumulating in his groin.

"Usagi-san!"

Hands crept up inside his shirt, caressing the skin on his abdomen, and then softly pinching his nipples.

"Ah! Not both!" he gasped, which for some reason, caused Usagi-san to laugh softly and then capture his mouth in a kiss. Then he turned him around and lifted him, carrying him to the bed, and threw him down.

"Usagi-san! The meat!" For some reason, Usagi-san thought this was even funnier than "Not both," but he glanced over at the stove.

"You've already turned off the burner," he said, and then he came back and sat astride Misaki and began kissing him in between removing his clothes.

He got Misaki's shirt off and ran his tongue from Misaki's neck down the middle of his chest, down to his waistband, stopping to lick inside his navel. Misaki groaned, his pelvis rocking involuntarily.

"Look at me," Usagi whispered. Misaki opened his eyes.

"Um, Usagi-san? I don't mean to ruin the at-atmosphere in here, b-but I really wanted to cook for you…" he stuttered. Usagi didn't reply, but began undoing his pants. When the fly was open, his fingers slipped in and found the hard evidence of Misaki's arousal.

"I guess it will just have to wait." Misaki sighed. "Here… please let me." And he laced his hands around Usagi's neck, pulling himself up and out from under the man. He stood and removed his pants and underwear, allowing Usagi to get an eyeful of his naked body. Usagi attempted to pull him back on the bed, but Misaki climbed up on his own and pushed Usagi onto his back. He took Usagi's pants off and then his shirt, and he in turn had a chance to look over Usagi's naked body. He was long and lean, with wonderfully wide shoulders. His chest and abdominal muscles were well defined, though not excessive, and there, below the navel, a wild nest of brown hair, and protruding from it, a beautiful, long, hard dick.

"What are you doing, Misaki?"

"I'm trying to remember..." He blushed as Usagi made another grab at him, and he allowed himself to be pulled to sit right on that dick of his. The sensation of it under his ass was so incredibly erotic, he had to close his eyes for a minute, during which Usagi began fingering his nipples again. Misaki placed both of his hands on top of Usagi's and began moving his pelvis back and forth, rubbing his perineum and balls on Usagi's erection. He peered through his lashes to see Usagi's reaction. His face was flushed and his eyes glassy, like a child on a sugar rush.

Seeing Usagi like that startled Misaki and gave a charge to his own aroused feelings. Arousal, but something deeper as well. He felt a sudden need to have Usagi inside him, to be one with him. Without saying a word, he got up off of the man and walked over to the kitchen area.

"Where are you going?"

"Oil."

Usagi made a huffing sound, as if Misaki had just socked him in the gut. "Er," his voice came out rather strangled, "Look in the inside pocket of my jacket." He gestured to where he had hung it on the kitchen chair. Misaki was conscious of his erection bouncing as he walked over to the chair, imagining Usagi watching his ass as he bent to retrieve the small bottle of lube. He turned and held it up, a smile on his face. Then with the other hand, he stroked his dick once, from balls to tip. Usagi stared, and he was happy to witness the confidence apparent in this new Misaki.

Walking back to the bed, he squeezed a small amount of very slippery gel onto his hand and applied it to Usagi's erection. The cool gel and Usagi's hot cock made for an exotic contrast. Then he climbed onto him again, and spreading his legs wide, reached behind and put some on and in his hole, still keeping an eye on Usagi, who watched the whole thing as if it were his own personal peep show.

Preparations complete, he moved slightly forward and reached back to grasp Usagi's now-slippery dick, placing its tip at his own entrance. He closed his eyes, trying to visualize what was going on back there, moving his pelvis to adjust the angle.

"Let me," whispered Usagi, cupping Misaki's face in his hands, and he began to thrust upward, causing Misaki to gasp.

"Nice and slow!" He controlled Usagi's dick as it poked at him, directing it into himself. Usagi had found the spot, and now the tip of his penis was stretching his hole; Usagi modulated his movements so he pushed in and then pulled back only a little, so that gradually, the head was inside Misaki. "Usagi-san," commented the boy. "You're big." Slowly, he began to move up and down, letting Usagi prod more deeply into him with each downstroke. He supported his weight with his hands on Usagi's ribs, fingers traveling every inch of skin, feeling the man's strength underneath him while Usagi's dick pierced his ass. "Ah, fuck!" He began to use more force as he let himself down onto Usagi, wanting to feel the push inside him, Usagi's dick filling him. His hand strayed to his own cock, and he stroked it, the sight pushing Usagi over the edge.

"Misaki," the older man spoke softly. "I'm going—"

"DO IT!" Misaki panted, putting his head back and giving himself over to the sensation of Usagi's dick driving into him, rubbing inside him, as the tension built up in his own cock and threatened to spill over.

At that moment, Usagi made the most amazing groan, and Misaki guessed that he was coming. He felt the spasms as Usagi's dick expanded and contracted rapidly inside him. He sped up the movement of his hand and in a few seconds, he spurted his seed onto Usagi's chest. He sat a final time, letting his weight drop onto Usagi's pelvis, Usagi still inside him.

He closed his eyes, savoring the echoes of Usagi's spasms inside him and his own answering ones as Usagi stroked his sides. And while he lay there and enjoyed the memory of what they had just done together, Misaki was overcome by certainty. In all the confusion and striving of the past weeks, it stood out to him as something solid and inevitable. He hadn't even been this sure about cooking school.

He felt in his body and in his heart that he was meant for Usagi, and that Usagi was what he wanted.

He looked tenderly down at this man who was now truly his, not in theory only any longer. But where he expected to see a look of satisfaction, he saw a furtive, panicked glance.

"Usagi-san, what is it?"

"Nothing, I'm fine," was the answer.

"Come off it, you look freaked out. Did it gross you out that I came on you?"

The expression softened, and Usagi laughed. "No, that would never bother me. You really…you really came on strong there, Misaki."

Misaki lifted the hair off the back of his neck, where he was sweaty. He looked at Usagi again, and the light dawned. "Was that not okay?" he said, a little panicked himself.

"It was…incredibly erotic, Misaki. And if I hadn't wanted you to, I would have stopped you, so don't go feeling guilty. It's just…"

"What? It's something to do with the amnesia, isn't it?" Misaki was starting to feel pissed. How many parts of his life was this thing going to fuck up? How stupid of him. The answer was all of them, of course.

"I don't know. It's just that…you never did anything remotely like that before. Every time you tried to come on to me, you'd get embarrassed and try to run away."

"Hah. Really?"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't let you," Usagi smiled, and Misaki thought he saw the shadow of a man who liked to dominate. "I'd pin you down and ravish you."

"Sounds good. We'll do that next time."

Usagi grabbed one of Misaki's hands. "So you agree there'll be a next time?"

Misaki blushed. "As m-many times as you want."

"I guess I'll have to be better prepared next time." They both laughed, and Usagi pulled Misaki down on top of him.

"Usagi-san?"

"Huh?"

"Takahiro says you and I used to live in a penthouse together."

"We still do, Misaki. I'm just waiting for you to be ready to come back." Usagi ran a finger down Misaki's back, giving him the shivers.

"Take me there."

"Right now?"

"If it's too much trouble, we can go another time. I just thought—"

"No, it's not too much trouble. There's just one thing."

"What?"

"You have to give my dick back to me." Misaki sat up and punched Usagi gently on the chest, then slid off of him.

Later, after Misaki had finished cooking the katsudon and the two had shared dinner, they were on their way in the little red sports car again. They talked quietly, and Misaki tried to memorize the route between his place and Usagi's. The night obscured street signs and landmarks took on a different appearance.

When they arrived in the parking garage, Misaki was a little slow getting out; even though he'd been in control, he still could feel that a large penis had been inside him very recently. Usagi took advantage and came around to open his door for him again. Misaki stood slowly, and Usagi lent him an arm to lean on. "At least I get to see the damage I did to you," he smirked. He closed the car door, and Misaki was completely surprised by what came next.

Usagi bent down and swept him off his feet—literally. Misaki found himself held like a bride in Usagi's arms.

"What are you doing, Usagi-san?"

"This is your first time back to the penthouse, and I'm celebrating."

"Is this like being newlyweds?"

Usagi looked Misaki in the eye. "What do you say? Is it? Are we?"

"Yes," he answered, without hesitation.

And so, Misaki was carried onto the elevator, thirty flights giving way to the door of the penthouse. Usagi managed to press the buttons to allow them entry, and with solemn consciousness of the moment, he stepped across the threshold of his home with Misaki Takahashi in his arms.

"Here we are," he said softly, and he placed Misaki feet first in the middle of the living room floor. He switched on a lamp and returned to Misaki's eyes, eagerly watching for a reaction. Misaki looked around, taking in the pink couches, the entry to Usagi's bedroom, the telephone table, the twin staircases. When he turned toward the kitchen, Usagi heard him gasp.

"My kitchen!" Misaki's eyes were glowing, but Usagi was grinning from ear to ear. Misaki dashed into the kitchen and began touching the utensils, the stove burners. He opened the microwave and shouted in disgust, closing it again immediately. "Did you cook an egg in there—again…?" He looked up, astonished, at Usagi. "Uh, what did I just say?"

"Yes, I cooked an egg in there again, and oddly enough, it did exactly the same thing the first time I cooked an egg in there," Usagi agreed gleefully. "You've remembered, Misaki! That actually happened when you went to visit Takahiro in Osaka!"

"It did? It did! Oh God!" Misaki didn't know what to do with himself. He stood still, waiting for the memories to come flooding in. But nothing else came.

"This is good," Usagi said quietly. "I didn't dare to hope you'd remember this place."

Misaki rushed to Usagi and hugged him around the middle, burying his face in the man's chest. It was almost too much for one night.

"Let me take you to bed." When Misaki released him suddenly, he said "There's a lot of catching up you and I need to do." Spotting something large on the couch he said, "But there's one more thing before we go to bed." He picked the object up and held it up for Misaki to see. "Misaki, this is Su—"

"Suzuki-san!" Misaki cried out, taking the bear out of Usagi's arms and hugging it, vaguely aware in the back of his head that this was not something he'd ever done. But he was so excited to be remembering, hugging a stuffed bear seemed like a small gesture of gratitude.

For Usagi's part he was happier than he could have imagined. He couldn't believe that only a night ago he had sat in this same room doubting how this would all turn out. Suzuki-san understood, for he peeked over Misaki's shoulder and winked. 


	19. Each in His Own Way

Chapter 19

Each in His Own Way

Two men lay awake but quiet in a large bed, the room around them dark with many objects of wildly various shapes ranged around them, on the floor, hanging from the ceiling, arranged on shelves above their heads. But the crazy, circus atmosphere of hundreds of toys didn't impinge on the thoughts of either one, for both were alike adrift in the dreamy haze of love. That feeling that creeps inside the heart and says that for today, you are the luckiest person on this earth: a person who has found the one with whom love is possible.

Misaki, for his part, didn't want to open his eyes, in case it turned out to be a dream, possibly one of his amnesia dreams, bringing back old experiences in distorted form. After experiencing the fulfillment of sex and the promise of love from Usagi-san, it would be crushing to realize it was an illusion and to have that mountain to scale all over again.

Akihiko, on the other hand, knew it was not a dream, and that he had his lover beside him again. He gloated happily over his success at luring Misaki back to his side, even though some small part of his brain acknowledged that almost none of it was his doing. Humility was never his style.

Still afraid to open his eyes and ruin his beautiful dream, when he felt a hand stray onto his chest Misaki gasped and immediately trapped the hand with his own, pressing its cool fingers onto his warm skin. "Usagi-san!" A thumb stroked his nipple.

"Yes?"

Misaki left his eyes closed a little longer out of defiance of his fears, but his face split into a wide grin.

Just then, both men heard faint sounds from the living room, then footsteps, then the door opened and Aikawa burst in.

"Sensei! I'm on a quest for your next chapter!" She entered, her arm held high as if she grasped a sword and was indeed entering on a quest—or a crusade. One that involved the murder of many innocent people, Akihiko thought drily, as he stared at her from the bed.

"You're in the wrong story, Aikawa. This is a love story, not an adventure story."

Aikawa seemed to see the couple in the bed for the first time, and she let her sword arm drop. "Oh, so I see! This is good news!" She approached and sat at the foot of the bed, causing Akihiko to jerk his feet away irritably.

"That wasn't an invitation. Quite the opposite."

"Oh, sensei, you'll have to be more direct than that to shoo me off!" she trilled. "Good morning, Mr. Nakamura!"

Misaki had retreated under the covers, and he now peered out, only his eyes and the top of his head showing over the fluffy bed covering. "It's Misaki," came his muffled voice.

She gave a sharp little chirp and clapped her hands. "You've remembered, then! That's great news! We should—"

"Now get a hold of yourself, Aikawa," Akihiko chided, "This has nothing to do with you, so you can just forget about any plans."

"Nothing to do with me, sensei?" Aikawa stood, actually looking offended. "Just who was it who found Misaki?"

"That would be my dear friend Hiroki."

"Well, who got his phone number and took you to the Culinary Academy? Aikawa!" She pointed fiercely at her chest, once more bringing to mind a proud medieval knight. Proud and aggressive, Misaki thought, a little fearfully.

"Well I'm not in a position to formally thank you, but I do thank you for your help, Aikawa," Akihiko conceded. "Now do leave so I can enjoy the fruits of your labors." He smiled slyly, moving his hand down from Misaki's nipple to his groin.

"But the chapter! I must insist!"

"You'll get it," Akihiko said, as his mouth descended on Misaki's, shutting his editor from view.

********

Miyagi stretched and insinuated his arms around the sleepy boy next to him, who ran his hand up Miyagi's chest and let it rest in the hairs there. They shared a slow kiss, and Miyagi finally said, "Looks like our little chick has finally flown the nest."

"I might actually miss him," was the provocative reply. Miyagi responded by biting his ear and putting a possessive hand over his lover's crotch.

"And that is precisely why I needed to get him out of here."

"You, jealous? I can't believe that," the boy huffed.

"You think I'm so superior and in control, don't you?" Miyagi forced Shinobu onto his side and began to caress his ass, just glancing his hand across the smooth skin at the same time he caught the boy's mouth and gave him a slow, sensual, open kiss, probing tenderly with his tongue, licking the sides of his mouth, repeatedly withdrawing and entering as if to suggest what more he could do if given the chance. "I love you, and I don't want anyone else to have you."

"So why did you get me to do Kamijou-sensei?" Miyagi could feel Shinobu's erection butting up against his thigh, belying his apparent interest in discussing their departed guest.

Still keeping one hand on Shinobu's backside, Miyagi allowed the other one to slide down to the erection and began stroking it with a loose grip. "Because," he punctuated his speech with a kiss, "He's a very," another kiss, "dear colleague," kiss, "and I couldn't bear," kiss, kiss, "to see him suffer." A long, slow kiss with tongue. "And I didn't," kiss, "realize how much," kiss, "I would hate," kiss, "seeing you in another man's arms."

Shinobu, breathless and barely able to speak from all the attention his most excitable parts were getting, as Miyagi's long index finger began probing his hole in earnest, replied, "So the great professor learned something this week."

Miyagi determined at that moment to make sure the boy was punished well for his impudence.

****

The rising sun shone in through the chinks of the blinds and combined with a nagging sense of urgency to wake him. As Nowaki came to consciousness, he became aware of raw ache in his chest and a feeling of anxiety at the back of his throat. He dressed and combed his hair with slow deliberation and then crept quietly out into the hall and over to the guest room door.

There he was, sleeping with a heart-stoppingly innocent look on his face. Nowaki's breath caught in his throat at the beauty of the sight, and he felt himself begin to tremble. Unable to stand it any longer, he hurried on soft feet to the kitchen. He worked quietly, as befitted a penitent, to make an offering for the return of Hiro-san, allowing the man to sleep peacefully until he woke on his own.

While Nowaki prepared a home-style breakfast to welcome Hiro-san back, he bent his mind to the task of obtaining his lover's forgiveness. Well, perhaps that was expecting too much. Nowaki knew not to count on things going a particular way with the young professor. And really he was just so very happy that Hiro-san was home. He felt something wet and found he had been hugging a carton of eggs and cracked most of them, and the whites were now seeping out of the carton and onto his sweater.

Stripping the sweater off, he walked into the bedroom and threw it into the laundry. He dug a turtleneck out of a drawer and pulled it on, stopping to peek in once more on sleeping Hiro-san. He watched for what seemed like a long time and tried to let the peace of Hiro's quiet breathing enter his sore heart and calm it.

Returning to the kitchen, he scrambled some eggs for an omelet while he reflected that the best thing to do would be to make a complete and humble apology. There was no guarantee that would work, but it was the best course of action. He nodded to himself as if he were conversing with another person.

When everything was ready and steaming on the table, Nowaki made his way back to the guest room, where he waited patiently for Hiro-san to wake up. He didn't have long to wait; the travel alarm that Kamijou had used while staying with Miyagi went off at 7:00am precisely, making a piercing beep that made the insides of Nowaki's ears hurt. He sat anxiously watching while Kamijou's eyelids fluttered and then opened, his eyes searching for the source of the sound and then lighting on Nowaki, who sat not two feet from him.

The eyes widened; Nowaki could not tell whether Hiro-san was startled, angry, or perhaps even happy.

"Nowaki."

"Hiro-san," Nowaki murmured, bowing his head slightly.

Kamijou disentagled his arm from the covers and searched around for the clock, which he soon found. He merely closed the case at first, and it went on beeping, until he was able to open it again and push the button that shut off the alarm. Then Kamijou sat up and looked the man in front of him up and down.

Nowaki, seeing this was the time, unwound himself from his sitting position, knelt and touched his head to the floor.

"Hiro-san, I want to thank you with all my heart for coming back home. I also want to offer my humblest and most sincere apologies for having been unfaithful to you. I regret it sincerely and hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me." He waited with his head bowed for what seemed like long stretches of time, during which he could hear the blood rushing in his ears and feel the tears gathering behind his eyes, his throat swelling painfully.

Finally he heard the grumbling voice of his lover.

"What in hell are you doing, Nowaki?"

"I'm apologizing humbly," Nowaki said, with his head on the floor. The floor was dirty. He hoped Hiro-san wouldn't notice. Maybe if he cleaned it as soon as he got up.

Suddenly he experienced a blow to his head. He'd been busy thinking about the dirty floor and so didn't hear it coming. He raised his head only to see Hiro-san's foot coming at him again. It struck him full on the mouth, and his mouth was filled with the most exquisitely awful pain. "Oh oh oh!" He sat up and held his hand to his mouth. Blood began streaming over his fingers.

"Oh my GOD!" Kamijou scrambled off the futon to kneel in front of Nowaki, removing his hands from his mouth so he could see the damange. Blood slid out of the corner of Nowaki's mouth, frightening him. "Stay right there; I'll be RIGHT BACK."

He rushed to the kitchen and grabbed two towels, wetting one, and rushed back to where Nowaki knelt, once more holding his mouth.

"Move your hands!" he barked. He wiped the blood away. "Open your mouth! Wider!" He put an index finger inside and gently felt each of the teeth. One was slightly loose. "Here, hold this to your gums to stop the bleeding," he said, handing Nowaki a white towel with red stripes. He went to the kitchen once more and came out with ice wrapped in a towel. "Suck on this." He helped Nowaki up and into the kitchen, making him sit at the kitchen table. Nowaki glanced sadly down at the cooling breakfast.

"Welcome home," he said in a voice muffled with ice and towel.

Kamijou reached a tentative hand out and ruffled his head.

"Thanks." He sat down. "I'm sorry I kicked you. I didn't mean to hurt you. That much." he said roughly. Then he picked up a set of chopsticks. "I'm actually hungry. Do you mind if I eat?" Nowaki shook his head. Hiro-san couldn't see that he was smiling behind the towel. 


	20. Family Stew

Chapter 20

~Family Stew~

"What on earth is this?"

"What do you mean, what is it?"

"Is it even edible?"

"Of course, it's edible!" Misaki took the bag of okra pods from Miyagi-sensei's hands. "I guess Usagi-san has never seen okra before," he apologized to his guest. "It's used in Indian, Middle Eastern, and African cooking," he added.

"And in America, also," replied Miyagi, "An American graduate student brought them for me."

"How lucky!" Misaki said, carrying the ridged, green pods to the sink, where he began to stem and wash them. "Usagi-san, where are your manners? Offer Professor Miyagi and Shinobu something to drink!"

Akihiko bristled inwardly for a moment at being ordered around in his own home, but once more, his sense of good fortune at having someone to share a home with conquered resentment, and he organized drinks for the new guests and introduced them around.

"Sensei is having a good time!" a pleasantly familiar voice cooed in his ear. Misaki turned to smile at Aikawa."Who is that who just came?" she continued.

"That's Professor Miyagi and his, um, ward, Shinobu Takastuki."

"Umward?" Aikawa gave him a mocking look and touched his arm in a chummy gesture. "Does that mean what it sounds like it means?"

"I'm afraid so," Misaki said apologetically, "Though Miyagi-sensei was married before." He put the okra on the familiar, old cutting board and prepared to slice it.

"Mmmmm, he's my type," Aikawa confided.

"Well, do your best!" Misaki joked. He felt a little guilty for not attempting to stop the Aikawa juggernaut, but today was a day of celebration, and she was one of those whose efforts had helped bring him back to where he belonged.

"There aren't any other women here!" she resumed.

Unsure whether that was a complaint, Misaki replied, "My brother's wife, Manami, will be here soon. And don't you dare underestimate her!" He grinned.

"Oh, since you say so, I won't!" Aikawa gave Misaki a little squeeze from behind and moved to rejoin the gabbling group gathered on and near the pink couches.

There were Aikawa, Usagi-san, Professor Miyagi, Shinobu, Dr. Kusama, and Professor Kamijou. What a lot of professionals in once place, Misaki thought. And each guest had brought something to put in tonight's pot. So thinking, he took the sliced okra and put it in the bubbling pot.

The doorbell rang, and he hurried to answer, as it had to be, and it was—Takahiro and Manami. Manami came with a large bouquet of flowers and a hug. Takahiro grinned at Misaki but looked a little nervous as he stepped across the threshold. It was only a month since Misaki had returned to live in the penthouse, and this was the first time Takahiro had visited.

Takahiro handed him six sweet potatoes. "Oh, yum!" he said, carrying them into the kitchen, with Takahiro following him like a lost lamb. Manami came also, to find a vase for the flowers. Misaki dumped the sweet potatoes into the sink and began running water over them. "Welcome, you two! Let me get you drinks and make sure you know everyone." Misaki dried his hands and led them out to the drinks table. He poured Takahiro a whiskey without even asking, seeing his nervous state, and a white wine for Manami. Then, a possessive hand on the back of each of them, he introduced them to his other guests. He knew he didn't have to tell Usagi-san to be careful and kind to Takahiro. They'd discussed it over and over again, and Usagi was willing to put everything behind him and to make amends.

Twenty minutes later, the dinner was ready. Not having a soup tureen, Misaki carried the pot itself to the table. Manami was her usual kind and helpful self and filled rice bowls for all of the guests from the rice cooker and brought them to the table, which had been set by Misaki before the guests began to arrive. He also set out pickled vegetables and salad. It was a moment of almost ceremonial importance when Misaki went back to the kitchen and got the ladle from its drawer. He stood with his back to the chatting crowd, looking down at the ladle in his hands. His memories of this ladle had been one of the things that had guided him through some of the more confusing moments since his injury. His love of cooking had been a light that never went out inside him, and this ladle was the symbol of that love. He carried it solemnly to the dining table and stood behind his chair, looking around at the gathered guests, who still carried on conversations around him.

Takahiro noticed him, and began tinking a spoon against his whiskey glass. The voices abated and everyone turned to look at Misaki.

"I want to thank everyone for coming tonight's party, which is a celebration of my return from the world of the lost." There was appreciative laughter.

"How are the memories coming?" asked Dr. Kusama.

"Well, I still have some big gaps, but I remember Takahiro taking care of me, and I remember most everything about Usagi-san." He looked down. "It seems like I remember the feelings, and that makes me happy. The facts can come later. Or not." Another laugh.

"I asked everyone to bring something for the pot, so we can all enjoy it together. This is something I learned from my 'Food and Society' class over at the Culinary Academy. My sensei told us that this is called a 'Family Stew,' and it represents how people come together over food. No matter how much the individuals in a family disagree with each other or even fight with each other, in the end, they can come together over a meal like this and remember why and how they are connected.

"Some of us at the table are connected by family ties and some are not, but all of you played a role in bringing me back home." Here, Misaki made eye contact with Takahiro, giving him an encouraging smile, which Takahiro returned, thankfully. He noticed Manami leaning her head on his shoulder as he continued. "Just as each of you brought something wholesome to put in the stew pot, each of you helped in some way to find me and bring me back where I belong. And I want to celebrate with you the fact of having somewhere to belong." Misaki's voice began to crack a little, and he gripped the ladle's handle to reassure himself. "Thank you all, so very much." And he stepped back, and made a deep bow to each corner of the table.

There was silence for a moment, and then Takahiro started clanking again, and cried "A toast! A toast!" He stood up. "To Misaki. Welcome home!" Everyone cheered and drank. Usagi jumped up, hurried to grab the bottles and refill everyone's glass. But Takahiro was not finished, and Usagi was in the middle of pouring sake for Miyagi when the toast resumed. "And to Misaki and my dear friend Akihiko. May you always be happy together."

"KAMPAI!" shouted the gathering, and downed another glass. Usagi put down the bottles and went to stand by Misaki's side, an arm around the person he adored. He looked around at the faces, turned up to them and wishing them well.

Misaki, for his part, was tempted to turn to his lover and be enveloped in his arms so he could have a good cry, but being conscious of his host duties, he had the bowls passed to him in turn and filled each with the hearty stew.

******  
>"What happened to the boy they arrested for the attack?" whispered Aikawa to Manami.<p>

"Who, Keiichi Sumi? He's being held for trial." Manami looked sober.

"But why did he do it?"

Takahiro overheard and bent forward to join the conversation. "It seems he was obsessed with Akihiko and wanted to get Misaki out of the way." Aikawa gasped and looked with sympathy at the two, who looked as if they were still shaken by the news that someone would deliberately harm someone they loved.

The dinner had been enjoyed thoroughly, and everyone had had plenty to eat. Now they were gathered in casual groupings, talking away their feelings of being overfull.

"Tell me," said Manami. "What are Akihiko's books like?"

"Would you like to see? I brought a box of his newest with me!" Aikawa rejoined excitedly.

"Oh yes!" Aikawa stood and led Manami to the study, where the box had been stashed. She got a copy out and handed it over with pride showing on her face. Manami sat and flipped through the book, then apparently finding it interesting enough, began at the beginning to read seriously.

"I'll leave you to it, " Aikawa smiled, and returned to the party.

An hour later, Manami staggered back down the stairs, book in hand and a delighted smile on her face. "Misaki! Misaki!" she cried, waving the book at him. Misaki broke off his conversation with Shinobu and made his way over to her.

"What have you got there?"he asked her.

"I had no idea! This is wonderful! So you provide the inspiration for Akihiko's books?"

"What?" Misaki paled and took the book from Manami's hand. It had a pink cover, and on the front an illustration of a big-eyed boy in a chef's hat with a taller man behind him with one hand inside his chef's coat. The title: "Master Chef Misaki." "Oh, no. Oh, no."

"What?" asked Manami. "Didn't you know?"

"N-no, I had no idea." Misaki looked at Manami. "I'm sorry you had to see this."

"But it's great! Is it a series?"

Misaki groaned at the thought. Then he began to call. "USAGI-SAN! USAGI-SAN!"

THE END

This is the end of the story, but there is a very frivolous extra I wrote that I think some people liked when I originally posted it.

I enjoyed reading these last two chapters, but since my own situation is a little grim and sad right now, it makes me a bit sad to see how much hope I had for love winning out and the ability of families to come together after a falling out. I hope I will regain that hope some time.


End file.
